


I See The Real You (Even If You Don't I Do)

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dehumanization, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Skull Fucking, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-19 19:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: “Morning, Soldier. Remember me?”Hydra finds three ex-Avengers shacked up together, which makes it even easier to break them apart.





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mbaline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbaline/gifts).



> This fic is from the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico Charity Auction for mbaline! Thank you so much for donating and requesting a fic. I had a lot of fun with this one! I have three chapters planned and the tags should cover everything. I’ll give you a heads up if I add anything new. Aiming for ~15k total
> 
> Chapter 1 was supposed to get straight to the trash but ended up being adorable jerks being adorable. But you know what they say… what goes up… must come down ;) So enjoy it while you can
> 
> This fic is unbetaed so if u notice any spiders to squash please let me know!

“No,” Sam barks. “No, don’t you dare. Don’t you— _put that down, Rogers!”_ Steve snickers and waves the vibrator menacingly. Sam slaps it out of his hand. “That is a _supersoldier toy,_ not a Sam toy.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Steve hauls Sam’s hips closer so he can fuck into him even deeper. His dick is easily bigger than the long pink vibrator but Sam doesn’t have any qualms about taking _that._ “I think you’d like it if you gave it a try.”

 _“You_ try it,” Sam snarks back. But he can’t be too annoyed because he drops his head onto his elbows, giving Steve an even better angle to pound into him.

“Mmmh,” Steve hums. “Way ahead of you.” He smooths his hands down Sam’s sides and then creeps around to his belly, searching for the heavy weight of Sam’s dick. Sam is hot and hard and Steve gives a single squeeze and a quick stroke, grinding deep as he does. Sam clenches around him and groans. “You close?”

Sam twists beneath Steve’s hands. “Nah, baby, I’ve got time. You can fit one in first.”

“Wanna give me some juice, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know if you can handle it,” Sam teases, but he pats the rumpled sheets looking for the tiny remote. When he finds it, he clicks the button a few times and the toy seated in Steve’s ass buzzes to life.

“Oh, Hell. Yeah, one more.” Sam clicks the button once more to amp the vibrations up and Steve moans and hunches down over him, hips flinching in as the toy gets going. He has to focus to stay clenched around it while still rocking into Sam. The twin sensations are sweet perfection. The toy inside him buzzes deliciously while Sam squeezes and writhes beneath him. He quickly builds up to an orgasm. He wraps his arms around Sam’s torso and hauls him up until he’s secured tight against Steve’s chest. Sam grips his arms and holds on for the ride. Like this he just has to take what Steve gives him.

“Come on, tough guy,” Sam goads, trying to find traction with his knees only barely on the bed. “You gonna give it to me?”

Steve catches the almost inaudible sound of a zipper being opened in the next room and he grins to himself. He knows who that is. It makes him even hotter.

“Almost,” he groans into Sam’s nape.

Sam tips his head to the side and Steve takes the opportunity to bite into his neck, sucking hard to form a bruise before Sam can swat him away. “God, _Jesus,_ you supersoldiers are so goddamn possessive, you know that? I’m not a chew toy!”

Steve manages a hitch of laughter before he clamps tight around Sam, chasing the high he can feel looming close. Sam leans to the side again to catch his mouth just as his orgasm rushes in. The kiss is awkward but Sam jams his tongue against Steve’s, and Steve groans and clutches him tight and rocks into him. After a moment Sam clicks the ‘down’ button on the remote and the buzzing toy drops from a ferocious whirr to a gentle hum. Steve breathes into Sam’s neck, licking lazily at the mark that’s already turning pink. He eases them both down onto the bed and keeps rocking gently through the aftershocks, enjoying the wet suction of Sam’s ass every time he pulls out.

Sam barely gives him a minute to enjoy the post-orgasmic glow before he’s wriggling and slapping at Steve’s arm. “Okay, come on Rogers. My turn now. Pick it up there, man.”

Steve grins into Sam’s neck and keeps his slow rocking rhythm. “Hmm?” he asks innocently.

“Oh, no, no, no. Don’t try that trick on me. And after I so _nicely_ let you have a bonus. Come on, Captain Asshole.”

“Five more minutes,” Steve niggles. “You’ve worn me out.”

“That’s a lie. Who taught you how to lie? It was that Barnes bastard, wasn’t it? I can feel you inside me, Steven Grant, I know you’re ready.”

The mention of Bucky has Steve pricking his ears again, but he can’t hear anything from the other room. He slides out carefully and rolls Sam onto his back. Sam sees him looking at the door and wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, crossing his ankles at the small of Steve’s back. “You are _not_ done here,” he says.

“Never thought I was, sugarplum.”

Sam wrinkles his nose at the name. “Ugh! Are you tryna turn me off?”

Steve laughs and then rolls their hips together in a hot slow grind. His dick slides against Sam’s. Sam’s right, of course. He’s just as hard as he was five minutes ago. The serum didn’t just make him bigger; it gave him preternatural stamina as well. He wraps his arms around Sam’s back and hauls him up until they’re chest to chest. Sam’s legs are still around his waist which means he’s practically sitting in Steve’s lap.

_Perfect._

“Pick a position already, damn. Are we down? Are we up? Come on, this is good.”

Steve snickers and holds Sam one-handed while searching for the lube, squeezing an extra dollop on his cock before positioning himself at Sam’s entrance and sliding back in. He drops Sam down until he’s seated all the way. Sam groans and his whole body clenches tight: his arms, his legs, his hole. The mess Steve left inside him drips onto Steve’s thighs. The wet _squelch_ is practically obscene. There’s a sharp intake of breath from the other room and Steve knows Bucky heard it too.

Sam sees him looking at the door again. “Oh it’s like that, is it?” He grabs Steve’s hair and gives him a shake. “Should I remind you that I am obviously your favourite boyfriend and I am also _right here?”_

The prick of pain in his scalp makes Steve arch up. Sam gets a better hold and tugs again. “Saaam!”

“What’s a guy gotta do to get a decent fuck around here?” He leans in close until his lips are at Steve’s ear. “Lucky I come prepared, huh?” Without pulling away he clicks the remote in his hand and Steve practically roars in surprise as the gentle buzzing amps up to its highest setting. He grabs Sam’s hips and jerks up into him, using his hold to quickly haul Sam up then drop him back down. In this position Sam has absolutely no control over how fast Steve wants to fuck him, but that’s hardly an issue because Steve wants to fuck him _very very fast._ He slams their hips together again and again while Sam holds his shoulders and tries to not get knocked loose.

“Christ!” Steve swears as the toy punishes his insides. It’s almost too much but he likes it like that. God, Sam _knows_ he likes it like that. Sam grabs one of the hands around his waist and shoves it between their bodies.

“Do I gotta do all the work around here?” he asks, panting hard with each thrust of Steve’s hips. Steve takes the hint and wraps his hand around Sam’s dick, letting the movement of their bodies dictate the slide through his fist. Sam rolls his head and drags nails down Steve’s back, groaning shamelessly. “Give it to me, Rogers,” he orders. His Adam’s apple bobs as he throws his head back. “And don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Yes, _sir.”_ Bossy Sam is the _best_ Sam. He tries to hear any noise from the next room but if there’s anything to be heard it’s impossible to make out over the sound of sex. He punches up into Sam over and over until Sam’s mouth falls open on a moan and he spills over Steve’s hand. Steve pushes up into him in the hardest grind he can manage while Sam shudders through his orgasm before all his limbs fall loose and he collapses backwards onto the bed. Steve carefully pulls out and uses the puddle in his hand to jerk himself a half-dozen times, coming all over Sam’s stomach and chest while Sam makes half-hearted complaints about the mess.

He flops onto the bed and shuts his eyes, dragging in long panting breaths. He feels tingly and warm in the aftermath of pleasure. After a moment Sam clears his throat.

“Rogers,” he says, “I know that you know that I love you, but if you think I’m cleaning up this mess you’ve got another think coming.”

Steve smiles without opening his eyes. “How bad is it?”

“I look like I just came out of a fight with a gallon of vanilla frosting.”

“Sounds delicious,” Steve says, humming slightly. His dick gives an interested twitch.

“Oh, hell naw. Go and get me a towel, jerk.”

“But I’m _tired,”_ he complains, still without opening his eyes. Sam retaliates by poking him in the ribs. Steve swats at him sleepily and when he doesn’t stop he rolls over to trap him against the mattress. It stops Sam from poking him but it also smooshes all the jizz in between their stomachs. “Ugh!”

“This is entirely your fault and you’re on laundry duty for the rest of the year,” Sam informs him. Steve kisses his stupid face.

(Sam kisses back.)

Steve’s thinking about maybe angling for another round when a soft cough comes from the open door and when he looks up Bucky is standing there, smiling at them sheepishly. He has a towel in his one hand, an empty sleeve on his left side.

“Bucky!” Steve says, delighted. Bucky pads up to the bed and holds out the towel. Steve grabs one end and then tugs gently. Bucky could let go if he wanted but he lets Steve pull him into the covers until he’s on his side next to them. Steve kisses him until Sam makes a disgruntled sound beneath him. He leans back and tips Bucky’s chin over a bit until he can kiss Sam instead. While they’re otherwise occupied, he gets the towel under him and tries to mop up some of the mess. Then he shuffles down to wipe carefully between Sam’s legs. Sam brings his knees up to give Steve more room. Steve takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Sam’s hole clenching rhythmically and blows on it gently. Sam makes a muffled sound that might be a yelp.

“We have company,” Sam tells him waspishly while Bucky noses his cheek.

“Mmh,” Steve agrees noncommittally. He knows better than to start anything with Bucky in the room, but he can dream. He side-eyes Bucky’s crotch and wonders if he got off while listening to them next door. He can never tell. Despite insisting that he doesn’t mind them having sex, Bucky’s own sex life—or lack thereof—has remained maddeningly unknown.

Steve reaches behind himself to ease the toy free. He tosses it towards the ensuite and hopes it doesn’t make too much of a mess on the tiles. He’ll deal with it in the morning.

“Your boyfriend is a pig,” Sam informs Bucky.

“He’s your boyfriend too,” Bucky replies with one of his small smiles.

“Oh, no,” says Sam. “He _wishes_ we were dating. I’m just using him for sex and money.”

Bucky tucks his face into Sam’s neck and grins. Steve’s heart fucking _melts_ to see it. He’s so in love with these two idiots. Sam looks down at him and rolls his eyes.

“Uh oh, looks like Steve’s having one of his sappy moments.”

“What, a fella can’t enjoy his two favourite people being happy?”

“Get up here you great lug.”

“Well, if you insist.” He quickly pulls on his discarded boxers and tosses a pair to Sam before he army-crawls up the bed to snuggle behind him. He’s about to spoon around him when Sam jerks up.

“Oh no! I am _not_ being the middle cutlery again!”

“Sa- _am.”_

“Man, don’t try that with me. You two are like space blankets when you’re asleep. Enormous, heavy, snoring space blankets. And I’m _not_ doing that again.” He climbs over Steve clumsily and falls in behind him, kneeing him in the kidney on the way over. “Now, _shove,”_ he demands, pushing Steve into the middle. Steve shoves. Bucky smiles at him lazily as he gets manhandled into whatever fork or spoon or whatever Sam’s trying to get him into. When Sam’s finally happy with the arrangement Bucky creeps back into Steve’s space and kisses him again.

“Hi, pal,” Steve says.

Bucky gives him a slow eye roll that’s an exact replica of the one he used to give Steve in Brooklyn. Steve’s heart lurches again and he leans in for another kiss.

“You better not be getting him wound up,” Sam says from behind Steve’s shoulder. “I’m not going for another round just because you want to make eyes at each other.”

“I’m not getting wound up,” Steve says, which is only a little bit a lie. He knows better than that. Bucky’s not _quite_ there yet. He likes kissing and snuggling with them after sex. And Steve knows that he’s interested in at least the _idea_ of sex because he seems to get off on Sam and Steve getting off. But he’s never so much as taken a shirt off around them. Any touching has to stay above his waist, and Steve and Sam have to be careful to not accidentally pin him during the night, or even get too close. Morning wood nudging Bucky’s thigh is liable to end in a panic attack, though he doesn’t seem to mind its _existence._ His fear seems to centre on the idea of his involvement, like he’s scared of them seeing him like that. It’s been just over a year since his defection from Hydra but the clues into his time there still have Steve seething with grief and rage. As if sensing his thoughts Bucky puts a hand on his chest and Sam squeezes him from behind.

Their triad is unusual even by 21st century standards but if becoming fugitives has taught them nothing else at least it’s taught them to say _Fuck what the world thinks._ Loving Bucky has always been second nature to Steve and loving Sam had come just as easy. Everything else is a bonus.

“Thanks for bringing us a towel,” Steve says quietly.

“You’re a grub,” Bucky informs him. “Someone’s gotta save our last set of clean sheets.”

Sam snorts and Steve pokes him blindly until he shuts up. Which makes Bucky laugh as well. Steve grins at him and leans in for another kiss. “You know you’re always welcome to join us,” he says. “Or you can come in if you just want to watch. You can see the live action sheet ruining.” He smiles hopefully but Bucky just makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs.

“Sure, Stevie,” he says. Which isn’t really an agreement at all.

It never is.

“We’re all ears when you’re ready to talk about it,” Sam says from over Steve’s shoulder.

“Nothing to talk about,” Bucky replies. And it’s just as much a lie as it was the first time he said it, but Steve knows a thing or two about secrets, and he’ll let Bucky have as many of them as he wants. Bucky’s naked body used to be familiar but Steve will love it—and him—no matter what he’s wearing.

Bucky’s thumb rests just to the left of Steve’s sternum, right over his heart. When his eyes lift they’re the same eyes that Steve remembers from way back when. The same eyes he’s always been in love with. They only got a couple of years together before war hit but now they’ve both made it to this strange new world and somehow Bucky had agreed to give him another shot. Him _and_ Sam. Steve rubs their noses together and for a moment he lets himself marvel at how lucky he is. Bucky’s eyes crinkle as though he can hear Steve’s thoughts.

“Enough with the silent chit-chat,” Sam says from behind Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t speak 30’s and I’m also trying to get to sleep. I’ll get your cuffs out if I have to, Rogers.”

“That would have the opposite effect of what you’re trying to achieve. Besides, Bucky was being nice. He was just telling me how much he’s looking forward to your waffles in the morning.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Sam props himself on one elbow to glare at them both. “I put out for Captain America and now I’m supposed to play house too?”

Bucky buries his grin in the pillow.

“Having said that,” Sam allows, “I was planning on making waffles _anyway.”_

Bucky lifts his head to pull a patented Barnes Hopeful Puppy Face and say, “With the blueberries?”

Steve catches Sam’s fond smile. “Yeah,” he says. “With the blueberries.” He flops back behind Steve and spoons back into position, shoving a knee between Steve’s. “But not tonight.”

“In the morning,” Steve agrees.

Bucky nods and curls in close, tucking his head beneath Steve’s chin. He puts his hand over Sam’s on Steve’s side and curls their fingers together. Steve kisses the top of his head and tries to stop his heart from aching with love.

He’s so very, very comfortable. He slips into sleep almost immediately.

Which is a shame, because if he had stayed awake a few minutes longer he might have seen the red flashing light on the alarm by the window which indicated the building’s security system had been turned off.

If he had been just a bit less tired he might have woken up at the soft sound of a lockpick in the front door and the muffled tread of boots in the hallway.

He wakes up only briefly.

It’s the flare of a stun button wedged in the back of Bucky’s neck that rouses him.

 _What,_ he thinks.

Then, _God, no._

He gets a whole second of horror to see Bucky’s face go slack in unconsciousness before something jams into his own neck and a few million volts sends him back to sleep.

 

 

 

 


	2. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Aw,” Rumlow crows, “I’ve missed you, too!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent chapter length _whom_

He reaches for Steve but his hand doesn’t connect with anything. Or, to be more precise, it connects with the feeling of nothingness. Like thick wool is packed in around him.

“Give it another ten ccs,” someone says.

The weight behind his eyes is so heavy he thinks his head might fall off, but he drags his gummy eyelids up.

“Good morning, Soldier,” says a familiar voice. Something pricks the back of his neck and black fog immediately creeps in. Everything distorts around him. The familiar voice is attached to a familiar face, and the face is grinning at him and the grin splits its cheeks in two. He wants to crawl away but can’t. The top half of the head falls back and reveals rows and rows of needlepoint teeth inside. The fog eases past Bucky’s peripheries until all he can see is the glistening, pearly teeth. A hungry tongue emerges from behind them. “Good to have you back,” it hisses.

His eyes shut.

His eyes open.

This time the familiar face is friendly.

“Heya, Stevie,” he says.

“Mmmph,” Steve mumbles, stretching his arms up in a yawn and then curling back beneath the covers. He blinks at Bucky adorably. He’s so _tiny_ compared to the rest of the bed. “How was the dance?”

“Dull as dust as soon as you left.”

Steve chuckles sleepily then shuffles over to make room. Their poky Brooklyn apartment is just big enough for two beds, but they’ve only ever needed one. Bucky slips in next to him and presses his cold fingers to Steve’s warm little belly. “Bu- _uck,”_ Steve complains, wiggling backwards with his eyes screwed shut. Bucky tucks one hand behind his bony hip to keep him close, and the other goes against his cheek. It’s nice having two hands.

_What an odd thought to have._

He draws Steve in to kiss him gently. Steve’s eyes are still closed but he smiles into the kiss and rubs his nose on Bucky’s. A skinny little arm slips around Bucky’s waist and their legs tangle together. Bucky takes the opportunity to press his thigh into Steve’s crotch.

“I gotta get up early,” Steve complains, but he shifts until Bucky’s leg is more firmly ensconced between his own.

“You don’t gotta wake up for this,” Bucky coos. “You just keep on sleeping and let me take care of you.”

“Like you would let me.” Steve grins blearily and reaches up to knuckle his eyes. Bucky kisses the side of his little clenched fist and Steve suddenly grabs for him, twisting quickly to roll them over. “And maybe I’m already wide awake,” he laughs, his knees outside Bucky’s.

Bucky wiggles once but Steve stays firmly planted on his thighs. There’s not much to him but what little weight he has is enough to have Bucky hardening up beneath him. Steve braces his hands on Bucky’s chest and Bucky doesn’t remember taking his clothes off but somehow he’s naked and Steve’s fingernails rake across nipples. He yelps but the yelp comes out as a moan and his stiffy gets even stiffer.

“You like that, huh?” Steve’s smile is victorious, and he leans down to capture Bucky’s mouth so the denial Bucky tries to voice gets eaten by Steve’s greedy lips.

“Stevie,” Bucky groans instead. Kissing Steve is always somehow miraculous. Their mouths meeting under covers and in back alleyways and in the dark beneath the stars. Bucky melts beneath him and lets his worry fade away. This is nice. He’s allowed to like this. He grips Steve’s hips and rubs circles into his belly with his thumbs.

“So good for me,” Steve croons. He bites at Bucky’s bottom lip. A little too hard. His fingers start to pinch and tug at his nipples and Bucky jerks away.

“Steve, wait.”

_Should I give it another booster? It’s starting to wake up._

_Nah, let it ride it out._

“You feel good, doll.” Steve’s fingers don’t stop. In fact they get harder, twisting roughly. Bucky can’t stop the blurt of precome that crowns his pecker like a brand.

He twists sideways before Steve can see. “Stop!” he cries. “Steve, don’t!” Steve isn’t small anymore. He’s suddenly big and heavy and when did he get that wide? Bucky can’t get out from beneath him. It makes him even harder. “Get off!” he wails. Steve’s going to see. He’s going to _see._

“Buck! What’s wrong? Bucky, what happened? Talk to me!”

“Get off! Get off!”

Something’s _wrong._ Steve isn’t… Steve _never_ makes him ask twice. If he doesn’t move Bucky’s cock is going to start jabbing him in the thigh and Steve will _know_. He’ll know _instantly_ just how broken Bucky is. Getting held down and poked and prodded and _hurt_ is what turns him on. God, he _hates_ it. But how can he hate it when he’s so hard he can barely breath? _And why is Steve still holding him down?_

_It’s almost awake, Sir._

_Good. Get the other two next door. Let’s give our soldier a proper greeting._

“Steve, please!” Steve always listens to him but he’s not listening right now. He’s getting heavier. He’s petting across Bucky’s face and sides and his hands are getting larger and stronger and he _won’t get off._

“Bucky!” he says, but his voice is distant and he doesn’t sound like Steve anymore. Bucky tries to slap his hands away, but he’s suddenly only got one arm and it’s not doing what it’s supposed to do. It’s stuck against his chest like he’s giving half of a Wakandan salute. The hands keep petting. One of them smacks open-palmed across his cheek and Bucky cries out, his cock jerking and dripping. He tries to roll away. _Don’t let him see._

“Get off! Get off! Go away!”

_Look, it remembers me!_

_Give it another one, Brock._

The hand smacks across his other cheek and he tries to move his arm, one of his legs, _anything,_ but he’s being _held down_ and he screams in terror.

 _Oh-ho! I haven’t heard it make that sound in_ years!

Steve is gone but his weight is still there and Bucky screams again. He tries to draw breath, but his throat is too tight and he writhes and cries. The walls of their apartment are suddenly much closer. He tosses his head, searching for the way out, but there’s not enough air left and he feels like he’s breathing through a wet towel. _Where’s the exit?_

“Steve,” he gasps. He half expects Sam’s fingers through his hair, though he can’t remember why. Isn’t that what usually happens when he screams? He’s still fucking hard. He tries to curl in on himself to hide it, but someone laughs and pushes him flat and he sobs and shakes and claws for air.

His eyes screw shut, and in the interminable space between one moment and the next he finds he’s not in Brooklyn after all. He wrenches his eyes back open and the face in front of him is scarred and cruel, and it’s still familiar.

“Morning, Soldier. Remember me?”

The world goes white. Bucky screams so hard his voice breaks. He tries to wrench himself sideways and roll into a ball, but he doesn’t move more than an inch; his torso flopping feebly while he chokes on another scream. He throws himself forward and then back, which does nothing but gently bounce his head on the metal table beneath him. He tries to reach for a weapon, a pillow, fucking _anything,_ but when he looks down his forearm is trapped against his chest and wrapped in metal, and the metal is familiar, too. It’s the same stuff they used for his metal arm.

“Fuck, listen to it howl!”

“Aw,” Rumlow crows, “I’ve missed you, too!” Rumlow covers his mouth with one hand and Bucky heaves air through his nose as best he can, even though he can’t seem to stop himself from screaming. “Shh,” Rumlow soothes, carding his other hand through Bucky’s hair. “The drugs’ll keep you down but there’s no need to scare the lads, is there?” There are a few muffled snickers from beyond Bucky’s eyesight and he recoils, though once again he doesn’t move more than an inch. Now that he’s aware of it, he can feel the familiar tug of a sedative, though it’s no sedative he’s ever had before. He hauls in a breath of air that’s more of a sob than anything else. When he goes limp Rumlow takes his hands away.

“Where’s Steve?” he wails. Rumlow presses a stun baton to his belly and flicks it on. It’s been months since he last felt one but his teeth click closed on instinct and he rides the wave of it with his eyes and jaw clenched shut. Heat pools in his stomach. When it flicks off, he amends his question automatically. “Where’s Steve, sir?” He’s shaking so hard his teeth are almost chattering. He nearly doesn’t notice how easy it is to add the _sir_.

“Good to see you haven’t forgotten your manners.” Rumlow holds the baton over Bucky’s neck but doesn’t turn it on. “Cap’s going to join us in just a minute. Wouldn’t want him to miss any of the fun, now, would we?” Rumlow’s smile is unchanged by the burns. He leers at Bucky as the baton taps his jaw, then skims menacingly down to his clavicle. The baton has been used on him countless times before but Bucky can’t stop himself from shaking, from trying to roll away. He barely moves. The smile Rumlow gives him is all teeth.

And Bucky’s still hard.

He groans and throws his head to the side, trying to see anything useful nearby. They’re in a small concrete cell with a huge mirror that Bucky assumes is two-way. He can’t see what’s behind him, but he can see his own pale face and the hulk of Rumlow’s figure as he stands over him. He has to clench his eyes shut when Rumlow grins at his reflection, waving at whoever’s behind the glass. For a second Bucky thinks he can hear a distant roaring, but when he opens his eyes Rumlow’s only grinning harder. There’s more laughter from behind him. The roaring is cut off with no warning.

Rumlow returns his attention to Bucky, tracing the baton down his chest and mapping the shape of the metal. It’s keeping his fist encased right on top of his sternum, with two wide bands wrapped around his torso. One above and one below, to frame his pecs. The baton ghosts over the delicate skin, prodding gently until first one, then the other nipple hardens up. Bucky struggles to keep his breathing in check. This has never happened to _him_ before. It’s always been the Soldier. Rumlow is touching him; is touching _Bucky._ He hiccups wetly in the sudden quiet, and someone behind him laughs. Rumlow grins up at them and the baton drifts further down. Rumlow’s thumb hovers over the on button. Bucky shakes his head, even though he knows his dissent won’t stop what’s coming.

“How about it?” Rumlow whispers. The baton circles the base of Bucky’s cock. “You wanna show the newbies how much you like me?”

“Sir,” Bucky begs. He’s shaking so hard. The touch of something between his legs is alien except for all the ways it isn’t. He’s had more people—more _things_ —down there than he can count. But since Insight it’s never once been anything other than his own hand. He’d almost convinced himself that he was normal, that batons and nails and knives didn’t get him off anymore.

The baton flips his dick onto his stomach and presses down into the crease between cock and balls. Bucky arches and moans and his cock blurts another liquid betrayal. This time the laughter behind him is louder.

“I told you it liked it!” Rumlow crows. He’s grinning wide, showing off his prize. His eyes flick to the glass window then back down. Bucky sees the twitch of his thumb before he registers the shock of electricity. It’s enough to make his toes curl and his head bow backwards. The heat of it arcs up his spine and makes his stomach cave in as the muscles cramp. Like his whole body wants to get away from the pain even as it arches towards the source.

He feels the awful swell of pleasure beneath the agony and wants to weep. He had hoped— _prayed—_ that if he ignored how broken he was then it would just go away. But he’s somehow here, laid out on a metal table beneath Rumlow’s cruel, knowing gaze. And he’s going to come from this, he knows it.

 _“Steve!”_ he wails. Rumlow roars with laughter and digs the baton in even harder. The bloom of pleasure surges out from his core, like Rumlow’s got his thumb on that trigger, too. Bucky sobs once.

And comes.

Rumlow slides the baton up his cock as Bucky shakes, so the orgasm feels like it’s half electricity. Then he switches it off and wipes it clean on Bucky’s cheek.

“Told you so,” he says smugly to someone behind Bucky’s head. He tosses the baton over and there’s a chorus of giddy cheers. “Now you take good care of the Soldier while I’m gone, okay? The toys are under the table.” The cheers get even louder. Rumlow stands up, gives the crowd a smirk, and limps out of eyesight. Bucky can hear a door opening nearby but he can’t lift his head far enough to check. And then he forgets about Rumlow because a half-dozen strangers come to flank the table, and they’re all looking at him like they’ve just won the fucking jackpot. His stomach and crotch feel wet and he’s still shaking. He can’t make himself stop.

“Are you ready to comply?” one of them says. He doesn’t look older than twenty but his eyes are wide and eager and he’s clutching the baton like a trophy.

“Are you daft, Jonesy? We gave it enough tranqs to keep an elephant down. It’s not ready to do shit-all.”

“Haven’t you read the manual? That’s its trigger phrase.” Jonesy pokes him with the end of the baton. “Well?” he says. “Are you ready to comply?”

“Piss off,” Bucky rasps, nowhere near as loud as he’d like. “You’re not my handler.” Jonesy looks faintly disappointed and Bucky is suddenly awash in gratitude for a year spent with Steve and Sam, relearning how to be human. He might miss the silence of the Soldier’s headspace but at least as Bucky he can fight back. He clenches the muscles of his abdomen and curls up to smack his forehead into the kid’s nose, but of course he doesn’t get more than an inch off the table before falling flat again.

“Gimme that,” snaps one of the others, snatching the baton off Jonesy. He’s not much older. Christ, they’re all practically kids. Hydra’s been recruiting since Project Insight, Bucky guesses. The new kid is skinny and leering. He flicks the baton on and waves it over Bucky’s face. Bucky follows the path of it with his breath held. “See?” the kid sneers. “You don’t need trigger phrases if you’re not a fucking pussy.” He slaps Bucky across the face with it. The quick jolt of electricity is enough to make his teeth ache.

“It really does like it,” someone muses from down near his knees. A cold finger prods his dick, which is already swelling from the baton strike.

“Of course it fucking likes it!” The kid with the baton hits him again, then jams the tip of the baton into his solar plexus. Bucky chokes and writhes beneath it. The kid holds it against him for twenty seconds… forty… sixty… until Bucky feels his face going numb from the need to breathe. He used to be able to hold his breath for minutes at a time but a year without Hydra has made him complacent.

The baton lifts but it takes a few more seconds for his throat to open enough for him to get a wisp of air. His dick twitches. “Say thank you,” the kid mocks. He keeps the baton turned on as he waves it over Bucky’s body.

“Thank you, sir,” Bucky rasps. Tears prick his eyes.

“Look what Brock left us!” One of the others is rifling through a cardboard box. She holds up a jumble of plastic and metal that jingles in her hands. The rest of the team start diving into the box to see what else is in there.

“Cool!”

“I don’t even know the name for half of this stuff!”

Bucky knows each item. Intimately. Some of them have obvious uses, like the metal cock that twists at one end to open like a flower. Or the leather collar with pointy studs on the inside.

“Oh, I know what these do!” Jonesy grabs two small items that look like thick metal pins. Bucky tries to roll over to stop them going on, but he just gets a baton-shock for his efforts and Jonesy easily rolls him back over before snapping the pins over his nipples and tightening them ruthlessly. The trio by his knees laugh as his cock jerks with every twist. His chest is already on fire, but he knows from experience that it doesn’t matter how much it hurts. He’s going to enjoy every second of it.

 _But I_ don’t _enjoy it,_ he wants to scream. Except how can he even begin to believe that when he had spent years learning just how much he _did?_ He had gotten hard from toys ten times crueller than the ones in front of him now. Whips that had left him covered in blood and his own semen. Thick boned collars that had forced his head up at an angle so he couldn’t watch as nails were hammered into the skin of his testicles. Cages of all sizes: big enough to fit him if he curled in tight, and small enough to hold his purpling dick no matter how hard he had gotten.

“Ugh, Sawyer, you’re not gonna put that _in_ it, are you?”

Sawyer must be the big one with the baton because he has his dick in one hand and a feral grin on his face. “You’re damn right I’m gonna put this in it. Gimme that thing with the, yeah, that one.” He snatches a collar with an o-ring in the middle and jams the ring into Bucky’s mouth, quickly buckling the thing into place at the back of Bucky’s head. He tosses the baton at one of the others then uses both hands to shove Bucky’s injured shoulder. The scar tissue aches warmly as Bucky gets manhandled into position 90 degrees from where he started, with his head hanging off one side of the table and his legs off the other. Sawyer slaps his face then shoves two fingers into his mouth, poking and prodding at his tongue and the inside of his cheeks.

 _“-On’t!”_ Bucky garbles. The fingers taste salty and dirty and familiar because all skin tastes the same, somehow. And Bucky’s tasted plenty of skin before. He’s staring at himself upside-down in the mirror and there’s a streak of flaking white on his face. His own come. From the curl of shameful pleasure in his gut he knows he’s not far off a second orgasm. As he watches a bloom of colour rises in his cheeks and a long string of saliva drips from his mouth. Sawyer thrusts his fingers in and out. He can’t imagine who’s behind the glass but he hopes like hell that it’s not Rumlow. Watching him _again._

“Paying attention, Soldier?” Sawyer moves in front of Bucky’s face so instead of his reflection he can only see the thickening length of cock peeking out of standard-issue combat pants. Sawyer isn’t all that big but the head is thick and angry and there’s a tattoo of a skull on his thigh. Bucky stares at it. Sawyer slaps his hands on Bucky’s chest and Bucky howls as his nipples ignite. “I said—” _slap,_ “—are you—” _slap,_ “—paying attention?”

Bucky shakes his head in a defiant _no,_ but it’s a lie. The Soldier never had to pay attention, only drift and obey. As Bucky he doesn’t even get that option.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sawyer sneers. He rubs his dick over Bucky’s lips and Bucky clenches hard on the metal in his mouth, trying to shove it out with his tongue. It bruises the roof of his mouth and chinks innocently against his teeth and maybe he’d be able to manoeuvre it out if he had more time, but that’s something he definitely doesn’t have. What he has is a cock leaking precome on his chin and hands on his shoulders and more between his legs.

 _Steve, Sam, get me out of here,_ he thinks. There’s no way this is going to happen. There’s no way they’re going to let this happen. Bucky strains against the metal and the drugs and the hands because Steve’s about to burst in, he’s sure of it. And he needs to be ready. He needs to be ready with an explanation for why he’s hard _(Just a side-effect of the drugs, Stevie)_ , and why he’s got come on his face and stomach _(It’s not mine, Sam, I swear)_. And Steve will believe him because he’s _Steve_ , and then Sam will believe him too because Sam trusts Steve and Steve trusts Bucky and they’ve promised each other that everything’s okay. _Everything’s okay._ Bucky feels himself relax because it’s not going to happen. Sam and Steve won’t let him get hurt. They promised him that he was safe. Every night they promised him.

And then Sawyer sticks the tip of his dick through the ring in Bucky’s mouth.

Steve busts down the door in his full Captain America getup, with Falcon right behind. _The Star Spangled Man_ plays in the background. The Hydra recruits immediately surrender and Steve handcuffs them while Sam frees Bucky and hauls him into a hug. Sam smells like waffles and _home_ and his lips press over Bucky’s face while he tells Bucky how good he is, and how safe, and how loved.

Except that’s not what happens at all.

The door stays shut.

Sawyer’s dick presses past the weak resistance of his tongue.

It’s been more than a year since he’s tasted dick, but nothing has changed between then and now. It’s skin, mostly. Hot with blood and sweaty from the inside of Sawyer’s pants.

Something drips from Bucky’s eyes to slide upside down into his hair.

The distant roaring starts again but it’s even quicker to stop this time. It might be someone yelling, or it could be the rushing of blood in his ears, like the ocean in a shell.

Sawyer’s hand comes to rest on his neck and Bucky swallows reflexively. But Sawyer doesn’t squeeze. Just holds on. He fucks in deep, ignoring Bucky’s gags, and Bucky realises he’s trying to feel the slide of himself in Bucky’s throat.

“How does it feel?” one of the others asks, sounding awed.

Sawyer grunts. “Like any hole. Wait til I’m done then you can find out for yourself.”

“Wonder if it can come while you do that.”

“I bet it can!”

The buzz of the baton fires up and Sawyer yanks himself out of Bucky’s mouth right before the explosion of electricity hits Bucky’s stomach. With the ring keeping his mouth open Bucky’s scream is unmuted.

“Idiot!” Sawyer swipes for the baton. “You tryna electrocute me? Don’t use that shit when I’m in there!”

“Well how are we supposed to—”

“I don’t fucking care. Get creative! Stick your dick in that end for all I care.”

 _“Ew,_ don’t be gross. That’s—”

The door bangs open and the recruits jump back. Bucky writhes where he’s been left, trying to take the opportunity to get to his feet. For a moment he thinks that it’s Steve and Sam, here to save him. But big hands grab his hips with bruising force. Hard enough that he knows they’re not friendly. Big enough that he knows they don’t belong to any of the young recruits. There’s a strained silence before a new voice speaks up.

“So, which of you decided to have a party without inviting your superiors, huh?”

“S-Sir?”

Bucky pants beneath the hands holding him down. He doesn’t have enough strength to raise his head and see who the newcomers are, but the voices are familiar, as is the easy chatter he can hear in the background. Like they know what they’re doing. Like they’ve been in a room with the Soldier before.

The hands on his hips squeeze and drag him forward a half inch so his ass is hanging over the edge and his knees are bracketing unknown hips.

“I’ll ask again. Who thought they got to enjoy the Asset’s assets without us?”

There’s a deafening silence for two seconds before one of the newcomers sniggers. “Naw, we’re just messing with ya.”

The tension evaporates almost immediately. “Asset’s assets,” someone chuckles. There’s a muffled commotion of people getting themselves comfortable in a small space. Hands being shaken. Introductions being made.

Someone grips his hair and hauls him up so he can see around the room. Three new men are milling with the fresh recruits. Bucky doesn’t know their names but he’s well-acquainted with their dicks. They’re not fresh recruits. He’s been at their feet before. Tears spring to his eyes as the hand in his hair clenches. He doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up, which means almost all his weight is being supported by his hair. He grunts and winces and hears his own breath come raggedly through the o-ring. From this angle he can see as his cock bounces with every harsh twist.

“Ooh,” says the man with hands on Bucky’s hips. “Which one of you was brave enough to get in his mouth? Guessin’ that was you, son?”

Sawyer’s the only one with his dick out. He nods uneasily. “Sir,” he says.

The older men guffaw. “Nice!” One of them slaps him on the shoulder. “That’s the kind of guts that’ll get you an early promotion, pal.”

Sawyer puffs up with pride. “Thank you, sir!” He glances smugly at the recruits closest to him.

“No sirs in here, son. Call me Smith. Now you’ll wanna see what the Asset can do when it’s motivated enough.” Smith winks and unzips his fly, jostling up closer to Bucky’s ass. “Pass the lube and the thin chain there, son. That’s the one.” The person behind him shoves so Bucky is forced to curl forward. Then Smith attaches the chain to both of the nipple clamps. When they’re secured the hand holding him up suddenly releases and he flails and falls backwards. The chain pulls tight and the clamps rip free. He howls and writhes and gets so close to coming he whites out for a second. He has to look down at himself to check that his chest isn’t a torn mess. His nipples are red and swollen and the imprint of the pins is still in them but everything is somehow still attached. “That’s it,” Smith laughs. “That’s the sound I’ve been missing! Damn, Soldier. Where have you been hiding?”

Bucky shakes his head and blinks the tears out of his eyes. _I’ve been with Sam and Steve,_ he tells himself. _That was real. They know I’m here. They’re coming to get me out._

The wet familiar _schnick_ of the lube bottle opening makes Bucky wince even harder. _I’ve been with Sam and Steve. I’ve been with Sam and Steve. Steve sketches on the weekends. Sam puts dyes in the waffles so they come out rainbow. We live together. They love me. They love me._

“Sometimes it’s loose enough you don’t even need lube,” Smith is explaining. His thumbs dig into the meat of Bucky’s ass and Bucky catches him grinning up at the mirror.

_Steve painted a unicorn on the back of my hand, once. He said he used to paint my whole body when we lived in Brooklyn. Sam let him paint the falcon uniform on him, instead. Steve sang songs while he worked and Sam fell asleep on his back on the floor. I kissed him awake and the paint got on my cheek._

“Some might think it’s gross,” Smith laughs, “but once you’ve been on a few missions you start to see the benefit to a bit of stress relief being always on hand.” His cock presses between Bucky’s cheeks. Wet and hot. Bucky feels like a balloon is expanding in his chest. His muscles lock tight. This can’t be happening.

_They’re coming to get me. They’re coming to get me._

Smith doesn’t bother opening him first. He presses forward.

The rest of the team mill around. The recruits jostle for a better position and Bucky suddenly gets a clear view of his reflection. His head is still hanging off the side of the table and he sees Smith’s lips curl in a smirk as he pushes Bucky’s legs further out. He has no specific memory of being fucked by this man but from the familiarity of his smile he knows without doubt that he has been.

The pressure against his ass increases and heat builds at the base of his cock. He tries to remember how to keep something out. He’s well aware of how to let something _in_ but he doesn’t want that, he _doesn’t._ He clenches tight and watches his shoulders hitch upside-down. Smith and the others hoot when Bucky’s cock spits a line of precome that’s only a frisson away from being a true orgasm.

“Aw, come on, Soldier. Show the newbies how I like it.” Bucky clenches harder but this is going to happen. Exhaustion and the drugs will wear him out well before anyone gets bored. His chest rises in quick breaths and from this angle his nipples are sharp, silhouetted peaks. Smith’s reflection stands between them. He arches and the back of his head hits the table and it draws the attention of one of the recruits because he gets hauled back upright to stare down the length of his body at his own cock twitching and, beneath that, Smith’s enormous dick pressed tight against his ass. Bucky shakes his head once but whoever is behind him shuffles close to use their free hand to scratch at his belly and pluck at his nipples. Bucky whines and jolts, and his cock strains valiantly, drooling nonstop.

“That’s it!” someone crows. “Do that again!” The fingers come back to tug more forcefully at the abused nubs and Bucky arches as best as he can. His hair gets pulled backwards until he’s staring at the ceiling. With his chest hitched upwards and his neck craned back he can’t see what’s happening between his legs, but he can feel Smith digging a thumb in ahead of his dick. The fingers pinch _hard_ and Bucky cries out, his cock jerking and his orgasm riding high. Smith jerks his thumb free and grabs Bucky’s balls, yanking furiously, and Bucky screams as he flails. With his balls stretched excruciatingly the orgasm surges up with nowhere to go and he heaves as the pain just ratchets him up impossibly higher. Smith squeezes mercilessly and instead of receding the pleasure stays right there, right at the peak, all the pain piling up so that even though the threshold gets further away he’s still right on top of it.

Smith jams his hips forward and releases his grip and Bucky comes so hard he whites out; eyes and jaw and stomach and ass _clenching_ with it. He comes so hard he screams. He comes so hard he’s pretty sure he gets some of it on his fucking _chin_.

In the hazy lull before getting pulled back to reality he is faced with the knowledge that there’s no way Smith isn’t in him right now. He tries to draw his boyfriend’s faces back up, like a blanket to keep out the chill. But there’s no image strong enough to beat back the dawning agony-bliss of having something inside him. Their smiles trickle away like ice in the sun.

There are cheers and whooping laughter. Smith is grinning at him and someone is keening distantly. When’s Smith’s grin only broadens he realises that it’s _him_ making the sound, though the realisation doesn’t seem to be enough to make him stop. His feet twitch loosely next to Smith’s calves and when someone flicks the tip of his dick he clenches hard enough that the intrusion inside him seems enormous.

“Good Soldier,” Smith croons. The person standing at Bucky’s back steps away and he falls again, kept from sliding backwards only by Smith’s hands as he’s held against his hips.

The pins get reattached and Sawyer is shepherded back into place, grinning like a maniac and hard as ever. The skull on his thigh grins upside-down. Smith hands him the chain like the reins of a horse and Sawyer immediately yanks. Bucky is so tired. He’s so so tired. But the pain stirs as it always does and he’s hard again already, drying come stringing between his cock and stomach. He tries to arch his back to lessen the strain, but Sawyer just pulls harder.

“You like it from both ends don’t you, freak.”

Bucky closes his eyes and shakes his head. He makes a wet sound as he chokes on his own spit and tears. _Stop,_ he silently begs. Sawyer’s cock jams into his throat before he can take a full breath. _Make it stop._ In his peripheries he can see the others talking lazily, leaning against the walls. A few have their dicks out. Someone is waving at the mirror with one hand, and making an obscene gesture towards Bucky with the other.

“Take the gag off,” Smith orders suddenly. Bucky’s eyes spring open. Sawyer pauses half-in-half-out to gape.

“Wh-what?”

Smith grins. “You scared it’ll bite your dick off?” Sawyer pulls out and Bucky hopes the face he’s making says _I will absolutely bite your dick off_. “Nah,” Smith says, “ignore it. It gets toothy if it’s gone too long between wipes but you just gotta remind it who’s boss. Take the gag off.” He looks at Sawyer slyly and thrusts slowly in, out, in again. “Unless you’re… chicken?”

One of the other men reaches over to unbuckle the gag and Bucky finally gets to close his mouth. He’s barely got enough jaw strength to make his lips meet with the weight of gravity working against him, but he manages to bare his teeth at Sawyer.

“I’m not doing that!” Sawyer scoffs.

“Fine.” Smith shrugs and looks around, locking onto Jonesy. “What about you, kid?”

Jonesy’s jaw drops. “M-me?”

“Come on, give it a go. You think I’d do you wrong? You’re Hydra now. And we look after our own.”  

A few of the others start heckling. “Go on, kid.” “Do it!” “You’ll like it!” Jonesy looks at them timidly then back at Smith. “O-okay,” he stutters. Sawyer gets unceremoniously shoved out of the way and Jonesy takes his place, smiling excitedly at all the people cheering him on. He’s just a naïve kid with too much trust in his superiors, but that’s not going to stop Bucky biting his fucking dick off if he tries to get too close.

Smith grinds in deep while Jonesy gets in position, and Bucky grits his overtaxed jaw as his ass burns at the stretch. He can already feel another orgasm building and he burns with shame. The Soviet’s serum might have been a shitty knock-off version of Steve’s, but it’s enough to keep him going well past a normal person’s limit, and it’s always meant that pain could keep him hard for hours if his handlers wanted.

“You trust me?” Smith asks. He’s breathing heavily but not yet close to coming; happy to just grind deep. He gestures and Jonesy holds out the chain attached to Bucky’s nipples. Smith grabs it and tugs up harshly, enough to make Bucky yowl. Then his grip relaxes, holding just past Bucky’s ability to arch, so his abused nipples are pulled right to the precipice of ‘too much’. Bucky pants and holds position as best as he can, weight going into his hips and shoulders. It forces his abdominal muscles to tense and he can _feel_ how that makes Smith jerk inside him. Jonesy unzips and Bucky remembers to snap his mouth shut. “Uh, uh,” Smith tsks, and draws his hand back up tighter. Pleasure-pain lances down his chest like there’s a livewire connecting his nipples to his cock. He doesn’t realise he’s open-mouthed again until Jonesy’s cock touches his lips. This time when he snaps his mouth shut it’s less of a snap and more of a weary shudder. Smith hands the chain over to Jonesy, who dutifully pulls it to the exact same tension.

“Sir?” he checks.

“Perfect, kid.”

“So, I can make it comply without the code phrases?”

“Oh, ho! Code phrases! You’ve read the manual! What’s your name, again? Jones? Jonesy? Well listen, Jonesy, Hydra might value bravery, but we rate loyalty and resourcefulness even higher. And someone like you is gonna go far.” Smith doesn’t look at Sawyer, but Bucky can feel him seething nearby, dick still hard and unsatisfied. Bucky can already tell that he’s going to be the one to pay for the slight.

“Thank you, Sir!”

“I ain’t your sir in here, kid. This is leisure time. You see how open it is for you?”

Bucky can’t deny that he’s open, either. He’s panting for air and he just doesn’t have the strength to close his jaw, though he gives it a valiant effort when Jonesy’s dick presses in. His chest is on fire. His arm is spasming from the prolonged restraint. His jaw and neck are aching, too. His ass is stretched around the first dick he’s been forced to take in months and there are bruises littering his body.

Jonesy tastes no different than any other dick, though he’s longer and weirdly hairless. He tries to get some teeth into it but Jonesy tugs the chain and Bucky shivers instead. His body is at war with itself. He’s burning with shame but the familiar fire in his belly is just as strong. The part of him that’s dirty, and wrong, and _unforgivable._ That part of him wants this. Jonesy breathes out an “Oh, yeah,” and for a brief moment instinct takes over and Bucky suckles the head in his mouth. He’s rewarded with a gentle tug against the chain and a not-so-gentle surge of pressure in his ass.

He snaps back to himself and tries to turn away. Hands stop him getting far. Someone digs a thumb into a bruise over his ribs and his cock drools.

The competing sensations are making his brain swim. He feels the familiar silence of the Soldier beckoning. He is following orders. He’s being good. He’s being _rewarded_ for being good. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. Sam and Steve would be _so_ proud of him.

“That’s it, good asset,” someone says, and that’s all it takes.

It’s like falling headfirst into a riptide.

One moment he’s Bucky Barnes, and the next he’s whisked out to sea and he’s no one at all.

“Suck,” someone orders.

He does.

He’s drowning.

He struggles to the surface to breathe and an open palm smacks his cheek. He blinks blearily, gets dragged back under. Pulls himself back up. There’s something wet and stringy on his lips and in his mouth and he swallows reflexively before he realises what it is. Someone new is standing between his legs. There are splashes of fresh come on his belly and chest and he doesn’t know if it’s his or not.

“Reckon they can see that?” someone asks.

Knuckles rap on the mirror.

He’s losing time. The Soldier is winning.

He grits his teeth, lifts his head above the water.

Someone touches the baton to the soles of his feet and he comes so suddenly that he doesn’t even get a chance to shout before he’s wrenched back under again.

Every time he surfaces it’s to another stain of come, another sharp bruise from somebody rewarding him. They get tired of holding the chain so they snap a collar around his neck and attach the chain to that instead. The weight of metal against his throat is too familiar. He coughs, clenches. The Soldier wins again.

He’s not supposed to drown, he’s supposed to fight. There are people who want him to stay. People who love him.

“It’s boring when it goes all limp like that,” someone muses.

“Ha.” Another voice. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a way to keep it focused. Just enjoy this for now.”

Hands touch his face, his hair.

There’s something in his mouth, and then there isn’t. The Soldier keeps itself open when it’s not in use. Bucky tries to close himself off. There’s no way they can both exist in here. One of them is going to come out on top.

He drowns.

He stays wherever they put him.

They reward him. They’ve always rewarded him for being good. And he’s being _good._ They fuck him hard. Make him come. They whip pleasure-pain up his thighs and down his cock. The collar tightens until he’s choking. Another reward. “Come,” they order. He does. Every order he follows slips him further away, further under. The Soldier swells behind his eyes.

“It was more fun when it was awake,” someone says gloomily.

“I think we’ve made our point,” someone else says. “Time to bring in the _motivation.”_

There’s another sharp knock like knuckles on glass, or maybe a baton. He doesn’t bother checking. He hangs limply from the table. He’s sure the drugs have worn off but it makes no difference. He’s not fighting. He waits for the next order.

And then the door opens.

The blast of fresh air is enough to make Bucky open his eyes.

And then open his eyes further.

Captain America strides into the room, looking cool, calm, and absolutely collected.

The Soldier doesn’t stand a chance. Bucky hauls himself through the sludge of his own mind. _“Steve,”_ he cries, except all that comes out is the vowel sound: almost a wail. He shudders on the table and tries to rise. Fresh tears spill hot down his cheeks and Steve kneels by his head to gently wipe them away. “Steve,” Bucky tries again, his tongue barely shaping the familiar name.

“Shh, sweetheart, shh.”

The world zooms back into focus like a radio finding a station and he gets hit with a wave of stimuli. People chatting in the background, beer bottles clinking, the stink of sex and blood, the gentle whisper of clothes on skin. He is aware, quite suddenly, of the vile state of his body. Come from all different sources marks his stomach, his thighs, his face. Despite that he’s still hard. Desperately so.

“Steve, don’t,” he wails. “Don’t look, don’t look.” Somehow the thought of Steve seeing him like this is infinitely worse than anything else.

“I know, Buck,” Steve says softly. “It’s okay, I know.” His hand curls around Bucky’s cock. Bucky jolts so hard he almost flies out of his skin. He gapes down his body and there it is: the head of his dick peeking out of Steve’s fist. He can’t, he, _what?_

“S-St…?”

“That’s it,” Steve whispers back. “That’s it, doll. Do you trust me?”

He, he, this is, what? He gasps, shudders. He might be having a fit if it weren’t for the fact that the serum means he physically can’t anymore.

“Buck,” Steve says urgently. “Do you trust me?”

Sam is here too. Standing behind Steve’s shoulder. Smiling at Bucky. “Come on,” he urges. “Let go.”

There’s too much _else;_ a room full of Hydra soldiers. He’s trembling, desperate. Outrageously so. He needs to, needs to…

“Bucky!”

He does, he does. He trusts them to the stars and back. He trusts them more than he trusts any little piece of his brain that says no, says that something’s not right.

He’ll do anything they want. He’ll be anything they need him to be. Why has he been hiding this part of himself for so long? Of course this belongs to them, too.

“Do you trust us?”

He chokes on his yes; the collar is too tight. He nods, wishes his hand was free so he could claw closer. Steve cradles his head with his free hand and brushes the tears off his cheek.

“Then trust us,” he orders gently. His thumb slides over Bucky’s lower lip and Bucky doesn’t know if it’s him or the Soldier that opens up to suck at it. This is Steve, and Bucky will do anything he says. “That’s it,” Steve croons. “Oh, Bucky. You and I are going to change the world.” He smiles.

And then he unzips his pants.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Behind the two-way mirror there is another Steve Rogers. He roars and batters himself bloody against his restraints. Beside him there’s another Sam Wilson who’s fighting just as hard. The speakers are old and staticky, but they’re loud enough that neither of them miss the wet sound of the other Steve slipping into Bucky’s ass, or the other Sam joining him there.

“Bucky!” the real Steve bellows.

Bucky can’t hear. He spreads his legs wider. His tears spill silent and unnoticed.

 

 

 

 


	3. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it’s useful being the non-enhanced one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late but… by popular demand: the escape scene and the aftermath ;)
> 
> Thank you again to mbaline for bidding on this auction, I had a blast writing it! And thank you to [Rachel](http://rachelhaimowitz.tumblr.com/) for putting up with me while I hee-ed and haw-ed about the ending. The only reason you're getting this at all is because she basically hit me with a rolled up newspaper and yelled at me to post

Sometimes it’s useful being the non-enhanced one.

Steve’s trussed up in a big metal chair with big metal shackles, so heavily restrained that Sam thinks he must be struggling to _breathe,_ let alone anything else.

Sam, meanwhile, is being held by little more than rope and wood. Yeah, he’s tied down pretty tight (ankles, knees, waist, chest, wrists). But people always tend to underestimate him.

Case in point: Brock had slapped him across the face, hard, and he had jerked _with_ the momentum, instead of against it. He had toppled sideways, and once down he had groaned and gone limp, like he had been knocked unconscious. Brock hadn’t even bothered to check. The idiot. He had laughed and spat on him and laughed again.

Sam had slit his eyes open in time to see him press a mask over his face, and turn into Steve Rogers.

Well, things after that had gone a little fucking _sideways._ But at least he wasn’t _actually_ unconscious.

Next door, the thing with his face spits on two fingers and Sam quickly turns away before he can see where the fingers go. From the inarticulate groan next to him he gathers that Steve wasn’t so smart.

“Steve, look up at the roof if you can’t close your eyes. Bucky wouldn’t want you to see.”

“They’re… Sam, they’re—”

“I know, I know, stop looking.”

Steve can’t tear his eyes away. Sam risks a quick glance over and wishes he hadn’t. The Other Steve (Brock fucking Rumlow!) is using Bucky’s hair to force his head up and down. The Other Sam has Bucky’s legs off the edge of the table and is standing between them in such a way that Sam doesn’t have to guess what’s happening there.

Brock laughs gleefully when the muscles along Bucky’s back clench and he clearly gags.

Steve moans.

Bucky Barnes—Sam’s partner and, more importantly, a traumatised POW—is being tortured next door. Bucky Barnes is being _raped_ next door. By people he thinks are his boyfriends.

Sam squeezes his eyes as tightly shut as he can and does what he’s taught dozens of vets to do. Long, deep breaths in. Even longer breaths out. He takes the knowledge of what’s happening, and he imagines himself holding it in his hand. He looks at it. He acknowledges its existence. And then he puts it to the side. He doesn’t shove it down deep or pretend it isn’t there. It clearly _is_ there. It’s clearly fucked up. But he’s not going to let it get in between him and escape. Another breath.

Break out first. Therapy second.

“Do you love us?” Steve’s voice croons over the speakers. Bucky’s voice is ragged and wet when he replies.

“Yes,” he gasps, “yes, yes.”

Sam relegates that to the side, too.

Another breath.

If he was still upright he would have had a chance of slipping the rope around his chest down, giving him room to lean forward and bite at the knots around his wrists. But that would have been time consuming and messy. Luckily, some idiot had pushed him to the floor.

“Suck _harder,_ Buck.” Someone makes a drawn-out groan. “God, it just comes straight back out of him, doesn’t it?” Laughter.

_Relegate, relegate._

He’s got rope around his ankles and knees, keeping his legs in line with the chair’s even though he’s on the floor. His uppermost leg is at an awful angle with his hip almost on the ground. He puffs out his chest to strain that rope as much as possible, then uses the leverage to wiggle his top leg. It’s exhausting work, especially with his knee secured as well. But he doesn’t need much room. He keeps wiggling.

“S-Sam?”

He can’t help himself from looking up at the sound of his own name. Bucky is straddling Brock backwards. Not Sam is closing the door behind him and walking over which, what?

It’s a _new_ Not Sam. And yeah, the last guy hadn’t looked anything like him either, but this guy isn’t even black.

“What the _fuck,”_ he hisses.

Steve doesn’t reply. Sam can’t see him very well but he thinks Steve might be just crying.

“Steve? Steve, hey, who the fuck is that?”

“Th-the first Sam finished,” Steve strangles out.

Oh. _Oh._

The first Sam finished so they gave the mask to someone else.

Fuck. _Fuck._ They’re never going to stop.

Not Sam isn’t even wearing gloves. He doesn’t bother hiding his white-ass hands, and Bucky must see them, but it’s like it doesn’t compute. Like he only has eyes for Not Sam’s face. Brock smacks his ass to remind him to keep riding.

_Jesus._

That’s not the Winter Soldier in there. That’s not even Bucky. They’re making something new, trying to get only the bits they want.

“Faster,” Brock orders, and Bucky complies instantly, his cock bouncing obscenely as Not Sam gets closer.

Fuck. They’re trying to make a doll. Something even more malleable than the Soldier had been. Something that would never break its conditioning.

Sam clenches his eyes shut. _Acknowledge it. Put it aside._

He starts wriggling with more intent.

“Steve?” he calls without looking back at the Hellroom next door. “Steve, you need to stop watching.”

“I’m not, I can’t just—” Steve hiccups helplessly. “I can’t leave him _alone,_ Sam.”

Of course Steve’s trying to take this burden, too. “You’re not doing anyone any good by watching,” Sam tells him. He’s got the rope almost at the foot of the chair leg.

“I have to,” Steve says miserably. “I have to.”

“You gonna be good for Daddy?”

Oh God, _gross._

“Okay, okay, just…” Sam casts about for something else for Steve to focus on. “Pay attention to Brock’s face or something instead. Or the other me. Try and find all the inconsistencies.”

“The inconsisten… _why?”_

“We’re going to have to convince Bucky we’re not Them.”

“But, Sam it’s… it’s like he can’t even _see._ They don’t look anything like us!”

“I’m going to need that in categorical format, Cap.”

The rope flicks off the end of the chair leg. He lets his foot hang to try and get blood back into it. His ankle is pink-rimmed from the rope’s chafing, but it doesn’t look like anything’s broken the skin.

“That’s it, pretty baby. You look so pretty like that. You like being stuffed full of daddy?”

There are moans and catcalls from the other room.

_Put it aside. It’s there to think about later._

He uses his toes to slide the rope off his other foot, and then assesses his options while he catches his breath.

“How’s that list going?” he pants.

“I don’t—I just. That guy is white,” Steve manages.

“Astute observation. You’re as keen-eyed as ever.”

“Sam, I can’t just. I can’t just ignore it like you can!”

“I’m not ignoring it,” Sam tells him quietly. He tries bending one leg to toe the rope off the opposite knee. “But I know when to quit. Hurting yourself isn’t going to magically take Bucky’s hurt away.” He tries to catch Steve’s eye but still can’t quite make it. “Looking away doesn’t mean you love him any less,” he says. Steve’s hands clench against the metal.

“I didn’t… God, Sam, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know, I know. If you can’t look away at least find something wrong with our faces. There’s no way they got the mask things completely accurate.”

Steve doesn’t reply, but Sam thinks he’s at least thinking about what Sam said. He finally gets a toe beneath the knee rope and shimmies it off.

He’s got one leg free. He can work with that.

“That’s it, Buck. Swallow it all.”

“Feel good? Yeah, you like it.”

He rolls forward awkwardly, using the weight of his free leg to stabilise against the ground while the chair stays on its side. Most of his upper body weight is now going into the rope around his top wrist. Fucking _ow._ He manoeuvres his other knee as far to the side as it can get, then throws his shoulders forward.

The chair follows.

For a second he thinks he’s going to make it up, but then the weight of the chair tips backwards and he crashes back to the floor. He grunts as he’s forced to absorb the impact through the bits of him still attached to it.

“Sam, _what—”_

“Any new observations?” Sam pants. From the tiny bit of give in the chair he thinks he might be able to crack the whole thing by crashing to the floor a few more times. But he’s hoping he can find an alternative that gets him upright with no broken bones. He’ll save the chair breakage as a Plan B.

“Your eyebrows are different,” Steve says, confident this time.

“My _eyebrows?”_

“And your cheeks. When you smile you get like… half of your face goes up higher than that guy’s does.”

“O… _kay.”_ He levers himself back into position to prepare for another round of pretzel Olympics. “What about my o-face?” he grunts. “What’d they fuck up there?”

“No they, they got that pretty spot on.”

“Bastards.”

“That wouldn’t matter anyway. It’s not like Bucky’s ever, you know. Seen it before.”

“It’s a point of pride, Rogers.”

Miraculously, Steve huffs a laugh. Somebody makes a wet noise next door and the laugh turns into a stuttered groan.

Dammit. Steve’s back to watching.

Sam throws himself forward again. This time he gets both knees beneath him and the weight of the chair on his back. Using his one free leg he knee-walk-shuffles to Steve’s chair.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m coming to you, Cap.” There’s no big red button on the back of Steve’s chair, but they’ve both seen the schematics for the chair used on Bucky, and this one—though newer—looks to follow the same layout. Sam’s pretty sure he can reach the buttons with his nose.

“You’re so loose, Bucky,” Not Steve says next door.

“I know what we could try,” Not Sam replies, like it’s fucking scripted or something.

“Oh, God,” Steve whispers. “Sam. Sam, _hurry.”_

“You can take us both, baby. I know you can do it. You want to be good for us, don’t you?”

Sam’s stomach goes right down to his toes and stays there. He inches closer to the chair’s keypad. “Steve,” he says, hating himself. “Steve, I’m gonna release the restraints but you can’t… Steve you _can’t_ just go smashing in there. We need armour. We need _weapons.”_

 _“Sam,”_ Steve says in response.

“Steve, promise me!”

“You’re gonna look so good, Bucky. That’s it. Lean forward. Relax for me. Good boy, oh fuck, yeah, that’s hot.”

“I promise,” Steve says desperately.

A part of Sam knows it’s a lie.

He hits the key-combo anyway.

Steve fucking _launches_ at the window. It shatters before him like it’s made of spun sugar instead of inch-thick glass. The Hydra team look up as one, and two of them are down before any of the others even think to reach for weapons. Someone has the foresight to grab the stun baton and switch it on.

“Well,” Sam mutters, “fuck.” He throws himself backwards as hard as he can, praying he doesn’t lose a vertebra.

The chair splinters beneath him, legs breaking first before the seat comes off the chairback. The back of his right knee explodes in pain. His tailbone follows suit. He ignores both and stumbles to his feet, still attached to wooden stumps via rope. Next door, Steve shouts something incomprehensible and punches someone in the throat, not even waiting to see them stagger to the floor, clutching their neck. Two more goons approach from behind.

“Steve!” Sam shouts. He grabs the wooden back of the chair—mostly in one piece—and launches it through the shattered window like a frisbee. Steve grabs it out of the air and deflects two punches before jamming the splintered edge into the nearest guy’s face.

Sam takes the opportunity to search for Bucky.

Bucky is pretty hard to find. It looks like Steve took out the Not Steve and Not Sam first, but Bucky is still wedged between them. He isn’t moving. Sam leaps over the worst of the shattered glass and runs to him.

“Bucky!” He grabs for the side of Bucky’s face, the only thing visible beneath the weight of Not Sam and Not Steve. Bucky mumbles something incoherently and opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out invitingly. Sam stifles the urge to jam the tongue back in.

Steve’s yell of “Sam!” gives him a half second warning to swing the leg of the chair into his hand and jam the end into the eye of an approaching goon, who drops with a yell, clutching at his face as blood seeps past his fingers. Sam wallops him over the head for good measure. When he turns back to Bucky he catches sight of something he missed at the first pass.

_Jesus Christ._

He slips his hands beneath Not Sam’s body, and gently draws his hips backwards. Bucky groans and his face clenches. Not Sam’s cock pulls out with a wet squelch and Sam shoves him to the side. Without his body in the way Sam can see how Bucky’s cock twitches in the air.

_Relegate, relegate._

Steve roars from somewhere nearby and Sam turns around to see him wrench the lower half of someone’s jaw clean off. The rest of the goons are in tatters around him.

Sam quickly frees Brock’s cock from Bucky’s ass as well. A dribble of pink-tinged come oozes out after it. Bucky cries out and his own cock jerks and spills weakly.

Sam needs to punch something.

He scrabbles on the ground and his fingers close around something cool and sturdy—a tazer.

“Don’t look, baby,” he snarls, barely hearing himself. He tips Bucky’s face to the side then rips the mask off Not Steve’s face. Brock is blinking dazedly beneath it, bleeding freely from the ear and temple.

Sam shoots for his fucking face.

Steve is suddenly there. There’s a knife in his hand and blood up to his elbows. He drops to his knees and ignores Brock’s screams, sinking the blade into the artery in his thigh before jack-knifing it upwards towards his dick. Brock grunts and jerks like an unstrung marionette. His fingers clench reflexively like he’s trying to grab for his cock even as it goes sailing through the ruined window.

An alarm blares distantly.

Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder, then seems to realise that he’s awake. “Bucky,” he cries, “oh, God, are you—? Can you walk?”

Bucky smiles vacantly up at them, then rolls to his knees.

“That’s good,” Steve starts to say, but then Bucky’s hand goes to Steve’s crotch.

“How do you want me?” he asks. His eyes drift to Sam. He smiles again. “I love you.” His mouth drops open and a string of blood drips to the floor. Bucky doesn’t appear to notice.

“Oh, God,” Steve says again.

“We love you, too,” Sam cuts in. “It’s time to run.”

Bucky wobbles upright. He’s got superficial wounds up and down his legs and chest, and blood between his thighs, but nothing that should stop him moving. “Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll blow you again.”

“That wasn’t us,” Steve says.

“Okay,” Bucky agrees easily, like he hasn’t even heard.

The alarm gets closer.

“Time to go,” Sam says. He puts one hand on Steve’s arm and another on the back of Bucky’s shoulder, turning them both towards the door. “Escape first,” he says, mostly under his breath. “Therapy second.”

Steve kills every single person who gets between them and the exit. Outside, it’s snowing.

They run.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up with Steve’s mouth in the exact place he likes it most. “Don’t stop,” he begs immediately, still mostly asleep. His hands fist into Steve’s hair almost of their own volition. “Have I told you I love your hair this long?” he groans, gripping hard and angling Steve just right. “Remind me to tell you that I love your hair this long.”

Steve hums quietly and ducks down, swallowing him to the root. Which is. Woah. When did he learn to do _that?_ Sam’s hips buck off the mattress and Steve has to hold him down. One big, hot hand rests on Sam’s belly and something… something isn’t right about that.

He jerks and blinks his eyes open and he stares down the length of his body to find a very naked Bucky curled between his knees, head nestled at the junction of his legs and mouth stretched wide around Sam’s cock which he was _still deepthroating Jesus Fuck._

“Bucky,” he says weakly. His hands flop to the side.

The bedroom door of the tiny safehouse opens and in slow motion Sam turns to stare at Steve.

There’s a full three seconds where no one moves. Then Bucky gives a long, slow, suck, and Sam makes a horrified sound and watches his hands come up to flutter around Bucky’s head, both desperate and unwilling to push him off. Steve chokes audibly and Sam’s hands stop in midair, raised as though Steve’s got a weapon on him.

“I didn’t, I wasn’t, I—”

Bucky pulls off with a wet sound that he immediately imitates, licking his lips with a smile that somehow manages to look both vacant and coy.

“Heya, Stevie,” he says, all Brooklyn. Steve has to lean against the door frame and even in the dim light Sam can see that his face has drained of colour.

“Buck,” he says back. “I… I don’t understand.”

“You gonna stay over there or are you gonna join us?”

That’s too much for Sam, because now there’s an insinuation that there’s an _us_ and that’s not… this is _not_ what he expected. He scuttles backwards up the bed and jerks his boxers up one-handed. “Bucky,” he says. Squeaks, more like. “What are you… Did you… Is this…?” _Get it together, Wilson. You’re a trained therapist for Chrissakes._

Bucky prowls towards him and Sam forgets all his training and almost breaks his nose as he rolls sideways and practically falls off the bed. When he gets to his feet Bucky is sitting on his calves in the middle of the mattress, looking between Steve and Sam with his hand raised. Too late, Sam realises they’ve made themselves more threatening by splitting.

Steve seems to realise the same thing and he flinches sideways, freeing up the exit. Bucky doesn’t go for it.

“You don’t have to get me off,” he says instead, a little desperate. “Please, whatever you want. I’m good with my mouth.”

Steve loses another few shades and collapses onto the bedside table, which creaks ominously. “No, Buck,” he says. Bucky’s face goes carefully blank and his hand stays in the air as he bows his head.

“Okay,” he says quietly. He leans forward and lifts up off his calves so he’s kneeling in the centre of the bed. Then he drops his hand to the mattress and ducks down so his ass is in the air. There are red stripes all up and down his thighs and Sam averts his eyes. He can feel Steve doing the same.

“Okay,” Sam parrots back. He shakes his head. Now that he’s not caught with his pants down—literally—he can maybe start to think this through. “I know you’re scared,” he says softly. “But neither of us is going to touch you, okay?”

Bucky perks up and sits back upright. “I’m good with my mouth,” he says again.

Steve makes a soft choking sound and Sam takes a breath and settles warily back on the bed, still with his hands in plain sight. He resists the urge to snuggle up to Steve for comfort. He doesn’t want to present a united force _against_ Bucky. They’re supposed to be _with_ him.

“I’m sure you are,” Sam says, still in the same quiet voice. “But none of us is going to be doing any touching. That includes you touching us.”

Bucky’s face goes through a range of emotions that are too fast for Sam to grab, though none of them look good. He finally settles on a sort of crumpled version of his blank face. “You don’t have to hurt me,” he whispers. “I’ll be good. You can… You can touch me.”

“Bucky,” Steve begs, “stop, just stop. We’re not going to—” His voice breaks. “We’re not going to hurt you. Neither of us… That wasn’t us at the… Bucky _please.”_

“Steve, why don’t you go and get the clothes we found?”

It’s obvious that Steve doesn’t want to go, and he’s never been one to tap out of a fight. But he also trusts Sam. When he’s gone Sam turns back to Bucky, who’s sitting back on his calves with his knees wide. Sam carefully looks him in the eyes and doesn’t let his eyes stray southwards. Forty-eight hours ago he’d never seen so much as an _ankle_ bared, and now Bucky is sitting wide-legged in front of him, begging for something he doesn’t really want.

“We found some clothes in your size,” he says, enunciating carefully in case Bucky’s not all there. “Would you be more comfortable in clothes right now?” Bucky blinks at him so Sam carries on. “I know this is confusing, but Steve and I are not here to hurt you. We just want to take you home.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says quickly. “You’ll see, you don’t have to hurt me. You don’t have to make me come.”

Steve walks in to catch the tail end of that, and he looks helplessly at Sam. “That wasn’t us, Buck. The people in that room who… who did that…” He looks pained and there are lines between his eyebrows that Sam has literally never seen before. “They weren’t us. They just looked like us. We would _never._ Bucky, you have to know, you have to—”

“Steve,” Sam warns.

Steve slumps back against the bedside table, and passes clothes to Bucky without looking at him. Bucky takes them slowly and then, when neither of them make a move, he hurriedly gets dressed. Then he crawls back onto the bed towards Sam.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll show you how good I can be.”

Sam shares a hopeless look with Steve.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They shelter in the safehouse for six days, and by then they’re in something of a routine. Steve takes the first watch. (Bucky tries to suck his dick.) Sam takes the second watch. (Bucky tries to suck his dick.) They’re both awake for the better part of the day. (Bucky refuses to get off his knees in these hours.) They pore over the data they stole on their way out of the Hydra base, then Sam cooks whatever rations they’ve set aside from the meagre supplies and Steve radios Nat to see if today’s the day they get the all-clear to leave.

Bucky tries to thank them in the only way he seems to know how.

“Buck, stop.”

“Bucky, _no.”_

“No, I don’t…”

“Bucky!”

Sam pulls the pillow over his head. It does little to block out the sound of Bucky’s newest attempts at seduction. Sam knows that as soon as Steve gets free Bucky’s going to come looking for—yep, here he comes now.

Sam sits up on the thin little bed and puts a forced smile on his face, so that when Bucky comes in he can hold up his hand and waylay him halfway. Usually a polite “stop” is enough, but today Bucky stalks right past his hand and climbs onto the bed. Sam shuffles backwards until he’s against the headboard, but Bucky just follows him up until they’re nose to nose.

“Heya, Bucky,” Sam says carefully. Bucky’s hand lands on his waist and Sam gently pushes it off.

“Let me blow you,” Bucky begs with the same terrible vacant expression as always. His legs slide backwards so that he’s lying almost fully prostate, head pillowed on Sam’s thigh.

“I don’t want that,” Sam tells him. Steve comes through the door and his face scrunches up in a way that’s becoming familiar.

“Bucky,” he whispers, heartbroken. “You need to stop this.”

“You haven’t had sex in days,” Bucky tells him, almost pragmatic. “If I don’t get you off now it’s just going to be worse later.”

Sam cuts in ahead of Steve. “What do you mean worse?”

“I can get you off now and you don’t have to get me off at all. But if you wait then you’ll want to hurt me. So I have to get you off now so the sex isn’t worse later.”

 _That doesn’t make any sense,_ Sam thinks to himself, but then, nothing Bucky does has been making sense. “How much sex Steve and I are having is not your concern,” he says instead. It’s like talking to a mannequin.

“Okay,” Bucky says, then smiles blandly and reaches for the waist of Sam’s pants.

“Bucky, you are not going to blow me. _Or_ Steve.”

Bucky’s face falls, but only for a moment. The empty mask comes back a second later. “But I love you,” he says.

“We love you too, Buck. But it’s a no.”

Bucky wanders out of the bedroom looking somehow both crestfallen and impassive.

Steve has got the crestfallen part down as well. He turns towards the wall and refuses to look at Sam.

“He’s still our Bucky,” Sam reminds him quietly. “We’re doing the best we can. Nobody could do better.”

“He thinks we hurt him, Sam.”

“And every day we _don’t_ do that is helping to convince him that it wasn’t us.”

Steve spins around. “He’s not being convinced of anything! We’d be doing a better job if we ordered him to sit in a corner!”

“We’re not going to _punish_ him,” Sam says sternly, and Steve holds up his hands.

“I know, God, I know I just…” He steps into Sam’s arms and thunks his forehead onto Sam’s shoulder, groaning. “I just feel so useless.” Sam runs a gentle hand down his back, and when Steve rolls his neck he gets an idea.

“Come on, come sit down.”

“I have to finish going through the—”

“The reports will still be there in ten minutes. Come on.” He shepherds Steve into the other room and ushers him onto the ugly little couch. He sits on the back of it with his feet on the cushions and swings one leg over Steve’s shoulder so Steve is sitting between his knees. “Lean forward a bit,” he instructs.

“Sam, you don’t have to—”

“Yes I do. You’re as tense as an anaemic asthmatic with fake conscription forms.” That gets a surprised snort of laughter. Sam rubs his hands over Steve’s back in big sweeping circles, then in tighter circles, then in stripes up and down either side of his spine. By the time he’s ready to dig his thumbs in Steve is bent almost in half over his own knees, breathing slowly.

“You’re too good to me,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Sam sighs dramatically, then tugs at Steve’s hair a bit until he leans up enough for Sam to kiss him on the cheek. “But this massage isn’t coming free.”

Steve’s too boneless to do more than shrug. “What’s it gonna cost me, doc?”

“Lines.”

“Hm?”

“You’re going to repeat after me.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“When we first started dating I told you I wasn’t going to be your therapist, remember?”

“I know.” Steve starts to pull away. Sam pulls him back by the hair.

 _“But,”_ he says, “you _are_ my partner. And so is Bucky. And so help me I will hold you down and force you to do lines if I have to.”

“Fine, fine. Okay then. Shoot.”

“Repeat after me: I love Bucky.”

Steve’s spine immediately tightens. Sam smooths hands down it, dragging thumbs on either side.

“Repeat after me, Rogers. I love Bucky.”

“I love Bucky,” Steve repeats. Albeit a little stiffly.

“Bucky loves me.”

“Sam…”

“Say the words.”

“I don’t see how this is going to—”

“Steve,” he warns. Steve’s always found it easier to love than to believe he was worthy of the same.

Steve sighs. “Bucky loves me.” He says it like he’s defeated.

“I love Bucky.”

“I love Bucky.”

“Bucky loves me.”

“Bucky loves me.”

They go through this a few times, until Steve’s relaxed beneath Sam’s hands again.

“I would never deliberately hurt Bucky,” Sam says.

“I would never deliberately hurt Bucky,” Steve says back, fervently.

Sam draws him to sit back upright and then curls around him, crossing his ankles in Steve’s lap and his arms across Steve’s chest.

“You love him, he loves you, and you would never do anything to hurt him,” he says quietly. “And as long as those three things are true, and remain true, then eventually he’s going to realise that those Hydra lookalikes weren’t us.”

Steve hums and kisses the bit of Sam that’s closest to his mouth. His bicep. “Yeah,” he says. He rests his head on Sam’s arm. “I know, I know, I… Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime.” Sam squeezes around him and Steve wriggles a bit in his grip until Sam gives a cheeky nip to the back of his neck. Steve lets out a surprised noise and leans further into Sam’s hold, clutching his calves. _Oh, yeah?_ Sam thinks.

They haven’t done… _anything_ since the attack, as Bucky so astutely observed. And six days is a long time for Mister It’s-the-serum’s-fault-I’m-horny-not-mine. As he bites the top of Steve’s ear he realises he could definitely be interested in something right now, if Steve is. Bucky’s safely sulking at the other end of the safehouse, they’re as alone as they can be.

“Steve?” he checks, palms going wide on Steve’s chest and ankles locking tighter. He thumbs over Steve’s pecs.

Steve hums again, nodding. His thumbs make circles on Sam’s calves and Sam starts repeating the earlier massage, except on Steve’s front instead of his back. God, it feels like it’s been so long since he’s even _felt_ Steve. They’ve barely even kissed since they got back. He makes a vow that no matter what happens with Bucky, he’s going to start making time to touch Steve as often as he can. They’re both tactile people, and days without contact must be at least part of the reason for Steve’s sudden mood swing.

He dips his hands lower and tucks his fingertips into the gap between Steve’s jeans and his shirt. The skin underneath is warm. The muscles noticeably shift when he breathes loudly, open-mouthed against the short hair at Steve’s nape. He drags his fingers up, taking Steve’s shirt as he goes, just a bit. He rubs his hands over the newly bared skin and the muscle that he _still_ can’t believe really belongs to an actual, physical human. ( _His_ actual, physical human.)

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers. He can _feel_ the blush travel from Steve’s ears right down his chest, and he suddenly needs to see. He tugs at Steve’s shirt awkwardly, refusing to unlock his limbs but also refusing to leave the shirt on. Steve is more hindrance than help, kissing whatever part of Sam gets close enough. Sam rips a sleeve in his haste and Steve makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. When the shirt is finally free he seems to come back to himself.

“But, Bucky—”

Sam quietens him with fingertips on one nipple and teeth against his shoulder. He scratches gently up his stomach. “We deserve nice things, too,” he reminds Steve. They’ve barely even touched but when he shifts his feet he can feel that Steve is already interested, nicely chubbed in his pants. They’ve been idiots. Depriving themselves of each other isn’t going to fix Bucky, and it’s left them both wound up and anxious.

He unhooks his ankles and digs his toes between Steve’s legs, nudging them wider until Steve gets the hint and opens. “Nice,” Sam says to himself. “Undo your fly. Then put your hands at your side.”

Steve makes another shocked sound but does as he’s told.

“You like it when I boss you around,” Sam accuses.

“I like _you,”_ Steve corrects. He cranes his neck to smile back at Sam but his eyes dart over Sam’s shoulder and his smile falters. “Heya, Buck,” he says faintly. Sam turns around and congratulates himself on only flinching a little at what’s standing behind him.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with some clothes on?” he manages.

Bucky’s gaze is dark and his mouth is slightly parted. For the first time since they arrived at the safehouse he looks like Bucky _._ He looks _hungry._

His eyes flick to Sam’s and then—quick as that—the empty expression is back. He smiles the awful bland smile and walks forward, coming around the couch to drop to his knees next to Steve’s feet. Steve reaches for him automatically. “I know another way to relieve stress,” Bucky says calmly. And he drops the handle of a whip into Steve’s outstretched hand.

Steve bursts into sudden tears. 

Sam’s about a half second behind him and only his VA training stops him. “Bucky,” he says carefully. “Could you please go and put on some clothes and then come back out here?”

Bucky’s face goes blank and he smiles his familiar wooden smile, gets to his feet, and leaves. He’s only gone for a minute or two, and Sam spends the time holding tight to Steve and hushing him, repeating the three truths until Steve is nodding along with him. He surreptitiously zips Steve’s fly back up. _That_ ship has well and truly sailed.

Except…

Sam can’t help but try and analyse the heat in Bucky’s gaze.

Bucky returns looking only marginally more respectable in too-tight clothes that he clearly picked from Sam’s pile. Sam flicks Steve’s ear before he can say anything.

“We’re going to have the talk again, okay, Buck?”

Bucky’s shoulders slump but he dutifully takes the chair opposite the couch. Sam untangles himself from Steve but doesn’t stray far, taking the seat next to him on the couch and grabbing his hand. Steve squeezes gratefully.

“So,” he says. He clears his throat. God, every training manual in the world says not to be a therapist for your own partners. But what other choice does he have? It’s not like three wanted fugitives can just turn up on a counsellor’s doorstep. Especially not when they’re hiding from the government _and_ Hydra. He shakes his head.

“Why did you bring us a whip?” he starts. _Where did you even_ find _it,_ he doesn’t add.

“For stress relief,” Bucky replies. “You said you didn’t want me to blow you. So now we can have sex the other way.” He holds the whip out again. Sam looks at the damn thing and feels like crying.

“Right,” he says. “You mean so we can hurt you.” If he ever gets his hands on Hydra’s tech staff he was going to spend a long long time tearing them apart. Slowly.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Steve pipes up. He blinks and won’t meet their eyes. “About the… the pain thing.”

“You mean how I can only achieve orgasm when you hurt me.” Bucky holds the whip out again, but neither of them take it.

A tiny spot of pink flushes Steve’s cheeks. “Yes,” he says. “That.” He looks at Sam, then back at Bucky. “I was thinking it might be… It might not be… a _you_ thing. Maybe it was part of your programming. You were never like that before the… before.”

The blank mask cracks for the briefest second, then reforms, and the only reason Sam knows he wasn’t imagining it is because Steve’s hand tightens around his.

“What if Hydra made it so that pain would turn you on?” He looks at Sam.

“It’s… possible,” Sam hedges. Except now that he thinks about it, it explains a lot. “They wanted you to get off on extreme violence,” he says slowly.

“They wanted a machine,” Steve replies. He bites his lip. Bucky doesn’t respond, but his eyes track the movement. “But you’re not a machine! So they had to make you believe it, too.” Steve’s getting fired up now. “But, Bucky, it doesn’t _have_ to be like that. I know you’ve heard us have sex. You know that neither of us gets off on that. Have we _ever_ been like the people in that Hydra room?”

Bucky’s eyes are darting between them almost feverishly. He doesn’t otherwise move.

“I’m curious,” says Sam, changing tactics. “What were you thinking, when you saw the two of us together just now?”

Bucky stays silent. Sam feels like they’re _so close_ to something. This can’t turn into just another fruitless Talk, with no resolution and Bucky still believing he was living with his rapists.

“Did you like seeing Steve and I together?” he probes.

“It was…” Bucky pauses, glances sideways, jiggles his knee. “It was different.”

“Different, how?”

“You didn’t touch. Last time.” He blinks three times in rapid succession. “You didn’t touch each other.”

He feels the weight of _hope_ in the tight clench of Steve’s hand, and he squeezes back. Steve stays quiet but Sam can tell it’s a huge force of will.

“What else?” he asks. “Did you notice anything else different?”

Bucky swallows. Opens his mouth. Shuts it. Swallows again. The muscles of his jaw work as though he’s rolling his next works around in his mouth.

Outside, a bird suddenly shrieks. Bucky flinches only slightly. The shriek turns into song. But it’s enough. Bucky’s mask is back in place.

“Will you let me get you off?” he asks, blank and open. “Last time, you let me get you off.”

Steve slumps backwards into the couch. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“You know that wasn’t us,” Sam says. “I _know_ you know that wasn’t us.”

Bucky lifts his chin and, with absolutely no inflection, he says, “Prove it.”

Steve freezes.

“Buck?”

Bucky doesn’t add anything else, but he stares at them. He is carefully, visibly, unmoving. Steve turns to Sam at the same time as Sam turns to Steve. Sam has absolutely no idea what’s on his face, but Steve squeezes his hand almost painfully, then lets go. He reaches up to touch Sam’s cheek.

“Hey,” he says, and then he leans in.

For a moment it’s nothing like what kissing Steve is supposed to be like. But then Bucky makes a noise, or maybe Sam only imagines the noise, but when he looks over Bucky’s wearing that hungry expression again, and he’s leaning as far forward as he can. And Steve must see it too because his mouth gets suddenly _dirty._ And Sam can’t do anything but groan and yield and reach up to hold onto the back of Steve’s head. Hold on for dear fucking life when Steve gets his knees up onto the couch—all without pulling away—and corners Sam against the armrest.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Sam manages, some time later. But he feels like the only sane one left because Steve just leans in to nuzzle his neck.

“I don’t think it’s _not_ a good idea,” he says. “Baby, we can prove we’re really us.”

Sam catches Bucky’s eye and Bucky looks back at him with so many simultaneous expressions that Sam doesn’t have a chance in Hell of reading it. He tries to do the fastest therapy-breakdown of his life.

Bucky has been sexually traumatised. Surely doing something sexual _in front of him_ isn’t a good move. But thinking he’s living with his rapists is an ongoing trauma in itself. And it’s one that they can fix. _Right now._

Steve kisses his neck and clambers closer, until he’s pressed so tight against Sam’s side it’s like he’s trying to merge with it. He’s still shirtless from when Sam had started undressing him earlier. He runs hands over Sam’s chest and stomach, not forcing him to take part but also making it very (very) clear what he wants.

“Um,” Sam stalls.

“Sam,” Steve says, right into his ear.

Bucky’s eyes track Steve’s movements before darting back to Sam’s face. He doesn’t look anything like the blank-eyed version of Bucky that they’ve been living with. He looks alive. He looks _desperate._

“Right,” Sam says. “Right, okay, um.” He pushes Steve back and Steve, bless him, goes immediately. “We can try,” he tells Steve’s puppy-dog face. “But Bucky you’re just here to watch, right?” Bucky nods. Steve looks jubilant. “Okay, okay, we can try. How… er… Any preferences?” He directs the question at Steve but Bucky is the one who answers.

“Like before,” he says. “When you… Like you were before.”

“Right. Yeah, okay. Um.”

Steve gives Sam a nudge. “You were sitting on the back of the couch,” he prompts quietly, when Sam doesn’t move.

“I know, I know, I just…”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“I just don’t know if this is going to make things better or worse.”

“Well it can’t get much worse.” Steve kisses his neck again, then taps his chin and tilts it over so they can kiss properly. Sam doesn’t know what to do with his hands. And he’s still not convinced that this is a good idea. But Steve’s covering the slack by doing enough for two people, touching Sam all over and crawling just far enough into his personal space that Sam doesn’t really have to move at all.

Steve bites his lower lip and tugs it gently, and Sam retaliates by biting back, and then Steve’s tongue is in his mouth and, oh God damn, Steve knows how to kiss.

A minute later Bucky shifts almost imperceptibly, and Sam is shockingly, _immediately_ hard.

_Bucky is watching._

_Oh Jesus._

He’s known, abstractly, that Bucky has listened to them fucking. With his hearing there was no way he could have missed it. But there’s a difference between Bucky being nearby and Bucky being _right there,_ biting his lip and eyes going dark as Steve forces a gasp from Sam’s mouth.

“Oh Christ,” he manages, and Steve drags his shirt up and doesn’t wait for Sam to lift his arms before he’s tugging it. It gets tangled and Steve’s kissing him again almost before he’s gotten it all the way off. Sam’s stomach goes tight with a heady mix of things he doesn’t dwell on for too long. Lust, _longing._ Fear.

Bucky is _watching._

Steve groans into his mouth, apparently thinking the same thing. It’s different for Steve, Sam realises. Sam had known not to touch Bucky way before he’d ever _wanted_ to. But Steve had wanted Bucky since he was just a kid, and had shared all manner of things back then. And now the chance to do something new was being dangled in front of both of them. And, God, as much as Sam wanted it, Steve had to be wanting it even more.

“Okay,” he says, “okay, okay, come on, come _on,_ you were sitting in front of me.” He tugs Steve closer and Steve follows where he gets pushed, until he’s sitting with his back against Sam’s chest. It’s harder to kiss like this but Sam manages. He grabs Steve’s face and turns him round and if Steve was a normal human the kiss he gives him would _bruise._ But Steve just moans and rolls his body, crushing backwards until Sam’s cock is jammed between their bodies. It’s not the exact same position as before, but Sam’s not willing to move.

“Sam,” Steve begs. He grabs Sam’s hands and pulls them firmly forward, until Sam gets the hint and slides them both over Steve’s chest. He almost drags his nails up, because he knows Steve likes the sting of it. But he remembers at the last second that this is supposed to be completely, 100% pain-free. They can broach the topic of Steve’s kinks another time.

He glances up and finds that Bucky’s staring right at him. His eyes are darker than usual. Sam can’t tell from his spot on the couch but he thinks that Bucky’s pupils are dilated. He thinks that Bucky’s cheeks are pinker than usual.

“Bucky,” he says. Steve groans and rolls again, shoving his ass back against Sam’s dick. And Sam would very much like to make him do that again but they’re not here for each other, they’re supposed to be here for Bucky. “Is this okay?” he checks. He makes his hands stop, spread out on Steve’s chest.

Bucky nods. Licks his lips. Nods again. “Yeah,” he says, voice a little dry. “Yeah, it’s good. Keep going?”

Steve tips his head back against Sam’s shoulder and Sam kisses down the line of his throat, then brings his legs up to cross them over Steve’s, feet fitting on the inside of Steve’s knees. Steve spreads automatically. Just like he always does.

_God, yes._

Bucky twitches but doesn’t move.

Sam thumbs Steve’s nipples and resists the urge to pinch them. (They’re going to have to talk to Bucky about that. He hadn’t realised how many of the things he does to Steve could be misinterpreted as pain.)

“Get yourself out,” he orders. He says it right into Steve’s ear, but he knows Bucky can hear him.

Steve groans and straightens up, eyes going to Bucky’s. Bucky’s mouth moves on an inaudible inhale and glances down Steve’s body, back up, back down. Sam’s not sure if Steve flexes on purpose or not, but Bucky licks his lips again.

“Yes, we all know how pretty you think you are,” he teases. “But don’t you have a job to do?”

“Roger that,” Steve says. The little shit. Sam pokes the ticklish spot beneath his ribs. Steve arches a little too much and Sam’s sure that _that_ was entirely for Bucky’s benefit.

“Show off,” he mutters. Steve grins and his hands go to his jeans. He undoes the belt far too slowly for it to be an accident, but Sam doesn’t tease him this time because he’s got his chin hooked over Steve’s shoulder and he’s enjoying the show, too. Steve has to lift up a little to dip the waistband down but once he has it’s game time. His cock is lying half-hard against his thigh and it’s getting harder even as Sam watches.

“Is that so?” he asks, and he’s not really asking a question but he also is. Steve’s getting hard because Bucky’s watching.

 _“Sam,”_ Steve begs.

Sam glances up at Bucky in time to see Bucky glance back up at him, both of them with their mouths open.

“What are you thinking?” Sam asks.

“That you’re a tease,” Steve mutters.

Sam pokes him again. “Wasn’t asking you.”

Steve grins and wiggles his ass against Sam’s crotch. Sam lets himself jerk up into the feeling, just once, before he forces Steve into stillness by pressing down on his stomach. He looks back up at Bucky. Bucky’s eyes are on his hands on Steve’s skin. He waits until Bucky’s looking back up before he asks again, “Well? What are you thinking?”

“That you’re a tease,” Bucky says. Sam can feel Steve’s grin even without seeing it.

“See, Wilson?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Steve goes to touch himself and Sam grabs his hands. “I might be a tease but I’m pretty sure I didn’t say you could touch yourself.” Only after he says it does he realise it might not look good in front of Bucky, but when he glances up Bucky’s sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and he’s still leaning forward like he can’t get enough of it—of _them._

He turns Steve’s hands carefully until he can zipper his fingers between Steve’s; the backs of Steve’s hands are tucked against his palms. He curls his fingers down and squeezes gently, then puts Steve’s hands on his stomach.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. Steve’s whole body jerks forward like he’s been primed to follow his name coming from Bucky’s mouth.

Sam gets to watch as the two of them surge closer without ever leaving their seats. He drags the backs of his knuckles up Steve’s chest, drawing Steve’s fingers along with him.

Bucky’s knees open slowly and Sam feels the startled breath enter Steve’s lungs before he sees the cause.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps.

Bucky looks down at his lap and then wide-eyed at Sam.

“You’re okay,” Sam says automatically. He clenches harder around Steve’s hands. “No one’s going to hurt you. We’re staying over here, you’re staying over there.”

Steve’s arms flex without moving. Like he wants to touch… _something._ The tent in Bucky’s pants is fucking _obscene._

Sam starts moving his hands again. He drags his fingers—and Steve’s—up and down. He circles Steve’s pecs. He let’s one hand tease lower and gauges Bucky’s reactions as he does. When he pulls them up Steve groans and tries to force them back down, but he doesn’t use enough strength to really make it happen. Sam bites his earlobe. He thinks that he would like to wrap one hand around Steve’s neck, just so Steve knows who’s boss. But maybe not with Bucky watching.

He rolls his hips into Steve’s ass and bites off a groan at the thought of all the things they _could_ do. The next time he drops their hands down, he lets their fingers twine around Steve’s dick.

Steve lets out a breath that’s only a hair away from being a shout.

“Yeah?” Sam releases his dick and turns his hands over to direct Steve’s fingers over his thighs, rubbing teasing circles there. When Steve’s shoulders un-tense he turns his hands around again and lets just Steve’s fingertips touch his cock. “Slow,” he warns.

 _“Too_ slow,” Steve manages, and Sam hides his grin against the back of his shoulder. He kisses up his nape until he reaches Steve’s hairline. A bead of sweat dribbles slowly down to meet him.

“I’m not going to make you wait,” he says quietly, trusting Steve’s ears to pick up every word. Steve’s hands strain against his and he holds back for half a second before he relaxes and lets Steve direct their joined hands.

 _“Sam,”_ Steve breathes. “Oh, God. It’s been too long. I’m not gonna—”

“If I wanted you to hold back I would have told you,” Sam says into the sweat-slick skin where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder. He ducks his chin back over to look down the rolling expanse of Steve’s torso. All his muscles are tensing as he works his cock. One hand holds the base of his shaft, massaging steadily. The other is pumping furiously. Sam’s fingers are still caught between Steve’s and he drums them carefully, making Steve groan.

“Sam, oh, do that again!” His stomach tightens enough that he curls forward for half a second before leaning back into Sam’s chest, eyes clenched shut. “Ahh! Christ, I’ve missed this.” He grunts and his whole body shoves backwards into Sam’s. “I’m gonna,” he says. “Christ, I’m gonna—”

“Bucky’s watching,” Sam reminds him. Steve nods, gasps, opens his eyes.

“He is,” Steve agrees breathlessly. He rocks into Sam again and suddenly leans to the side for a kiss. Sam tries to nudge him to face forward again, but Steve’s suddenly shy. Sam realises belatedly that this is the first time Bucky’s seen Steve like this in over seventy years. The _real_ Steve, anyway. He pulls his fingers free and reaches up Steve’s body, clasping his hands behind Steve’s neck and flexing until Steve’s forced to relinquish his hold on his cock. His body stutters upwards and he makes an agonised sound. “You said you weren’t going to make me wait!” he wails, and when Sam looks down Steve’s cock is leaking and jutting up, twitching eagerly. Like he was moments away from orgasm.

“I just wanna make sure Bucky can see,” he says. Steve tries to reach back down for himself, but Sam tightens his hold.

“Bucky can see fine,” Steve whimpers. “Oh fuck, please…”

“Language,” Sam teases, but he’s looking at Bucky now. Bucky looks back at him and Sam can see that he’s blown. Eyes wide. Lips spit-shiny. _This_ is the real Bucky. Not a shell. Not a doll. Not a Winter Soldier half-breed. _Bucky._

“Are you going to make him wait?” Bucky asks huskily. God, his voice is so low. “You do that, sometimes. I’ve heard you.”

“I do do that sometimes,” Sam agrees amicably, like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he hasn’t got Steve in a shoulder lock right now.

Steve groans and arches. “You said you wouldn’t!”

“I did say that,” he allows. He looks back down Steve’s body. Steve’s cock jerks under his gaze. He looks… _delicious._ “But maybe Bucky should decide.”

“Bucky!”

Bucky heaves in a breath of air and goes wide-eyed. “I don’t…” he says.

“You don’t have to choose,” Sam says. He scratches his fingernails through the hair at the back of Steve’s head.

Bucky chews his lip. “He won’t come if I say not to?”

“He won’t come if you say not to.”

Bucky goes very still for a moment. He appears to stop breathing. The only thing that moves is his eyes, which slowly trace up from Steve’s cock to his chest, his throat, his face. Then he flicks his eyes back to Sam’s. “I don’t think I should choose.”

“Okay,” Sam says easily. “We can let Steve choose.”

“I get to come!” Steve says instantly.

Sam shares a grin with Bucky. “Wanna think about that?” he teases.

Steve struggles in his grip and Sam lets him go, but beats him to the goal. He uses two fingers to press Steve’s cock up against his stomach, and with his other hand he strokes the underside, just his fingertips on hard, straining skin. Steve groans and holds his wrists, trying to make him go faster.

“Come on, Stevie,” Sam whispers. “Let it go for us.”

“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky copies. He swallows hard. “Let it go for us.”

Steve must have been on a knife-edge because he shouts gutturally and Sam thinks he can feel the infinitesimal swelling of his cock before he shoots a line of come up his chest.

“Baby,” Sam whispers. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Steve,” Bucky says plaintively, like he’s begging. Steve groans and comes again. Sam runs gentle fingers over him and whispers in his ear.

Steve’s breathing evens out, and Sam kisses the backs of his shoulders. “Hey baby,” he says gently. Steve looks at him with a serene smile. Sam is struck again at how _blue_ his eyes are. He’s gorgeous. Steve blinks slowly and opens his mouth.

“I have to finish the reports,” he says. Sam smacks him on the back of the head.

“We were having a moment!”

Steve grins and leans back for a kiss and Sam pushes him sideways onto the other end of the couch. “No kisses for jackasses,” he says.

“But I want a kiss!” Steve makes a big show of pouting, and Sam’s about to tell him off when Bucky gets up, takes two steps over, and leans down to plant one on him.

“Oh,” Steve says dumbly, when Bucky leans back, before he breaks into a smile. “Well I guess that’s good, too.”

“Do I get one of them?” Sam asks. He grins when Bucky obliges. Bucky seems more relaxed than he’s been in days.

“You’re still hard,” Bucky says quietly when he leans back.

“I am,” Sam agrees. “But that is entirely Steve’s problem.” He deliberately doesn’t look down Bucky’s body. “You’re still hard, too.”

Bucky hesitates and looks at Steve, who’s following the conversation with interest. “Maybe that can be Steve’s problem, too?”

Steve beams at them both. He looks like an idiot with his cock still hanging out of his pants and streaks of jizz up his chest. Sam tells him so.

“Yes, but I’m _your_ idiot.”

Sam sighs. “Can’t argue with that.” He looks back at Bucky. “But maybe we should leave Steve out of the next part. I think you should learn your own pleasure, first.”

Bucky frowns down at his crotch. “I used to be able to do it without making it hurt.”

“Okay, well, that’s good because we’re not going to do that.”

Bucky smiles shyly. “I know you won’t. You wouldn’t hurt me.” Steve grins at Sam but Bucky frowns, considering. “Unless I was a brainwashed assassin hellbent on killing you,” he amends.

“Yeah, murder is one of my hard limits,” Sam says dryly. He ducks the pillow Steve throws at him. “So you can see the difference between us and the copycats from Hydra?”

Bucky hums. “I always saw the differences. I just…” He shrugs. “I needed a reminder.”

“Well we’re always happy to do whatever reminding you need,” Sam says with an eyebrow waggle. He ducks another pillow.

“Why do you have to make it sound dirty!”

“Baby, I meant it to be dirty.” He leans over to flick one of Steve’s toes. “You and I are going to sit and help Bucky through the slowest, nicest, most pain-free handjob in the world, and then you’re going to throw me over your shoulder like a caveman and you’re going to take me to the bedroom and—if Bucky is cool with us making a racket—you’re going to fuck me into next week.”

“Eep,” Steve eeps.

“I am cool with you making a racket,” Bucky says.

 _“Eep,”_ Steve eeps, a little louder.

“But can we combine the two events?” Bucky leans forward. “I could watch while you—” he gestures at them. “That would be a more logical use of the available resources.”

“Is that all we are to you? Available resources?”

Bucky just grins toothily.

Sam gestures at Steve. “Well,” he says. “Caveman away.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With no inbuilt "Read More" function on AO3, here is my obligatory recommendation list:  
> If you like porny Sam/Steve/Bucky, might I recommend [Chasing Every Breaking Wave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411807) by coffeeinallcaps. If you like Bucky being hurt while Steve watches, you might like [Contact](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15501597) by spunknbite. :)


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